Sleepwalker
by Saphrona Attecombe
Summary: Some of Cal's history with the IRA! It will help you to understand some of the dynamics if you watch season 2 episode 12 'Sweet Sixteen', and realize this story is intended to follow those events.Mysteries, action,and romance!
1. Prologue

Sleepwalker

Prologue

Outside the shattered window, the blue velvet of night was marred by the angry red pulse of firelight. Snowflakes scattered between falling ash and drifting embers. The sounds of shouting and automatic weapon fire echoed down the street, closer every second.

Cal shifted his weapon to his left hand, leaned over the woman's body sprawled on the floor. Red hair, blood-soaked, spread beneath her head like a mourning cloak, and beautiful blue-green eyes stared, unblinking. His hand, laid to her chest, told the truth he already knew; Glynn was dead. He dashed blood from his own eyes, and it spattered onto her face, mingled with hers, which was already drying. He touched her lips with a gentle finger, shock and disbelief, whispered her name.

'Cal! Bloody hell, man! She's dead! We gotta get outta here! If we miss the drop, we're done.'

Murphy tried to jerk him to his feet, but Cal fought him off, snarling, knelt back beside her. Lifted the messenger bag from her shoulder, slung it over his own, eyes never leaving her face. He placed a gentle hand to her cheek. Another grenade jolted the outside wall, sent debris drifting down, and after a few more seconds, Cal struggled upright. Shifted his weapon back into his right hand, gritted his teeth, turned to Murphy, nodded readiness. They were headed toward the back door when a soldier leveled his Uzi thru the window frame, and opened fire. Bullets smashed past their heads, into the wall, and Murphy and Cal spun to return fire. Muzzle flashes lit the dark room, the face of the enemy, deafening, and the shooter spun back, fell from sight. Cal tried to follow Murphy, but his leg gave out, and he crumbled to the floor with a howl of pain. Murphy dropped to one knee, spotted the gunshot wound, snapped, ' Dammit!' dragged Cal to his feet, and out the back door.

They had barely gone ten feet when an explosion threw them to the ground. Ears ringing, Cal looked around, tried to get up, but his vision was rapidly narrowing to black, and he knew he would be the next dead Englishman on this cold Irish street.

Cal jerked erect in bed, throwing sheets off his face, covered in a a sheen of sweat. Outside the windows of his house, lightning flashed and thunder shook the walls, rain pounded the roof and windows like distant gunfire. He blinked, wiped his face, realized where he was, and ran both hands thru his hair. Looked at the clock; Midnight. 5 AM in Ireland.

After his heart stilled he got out of bed, ran his hand across the old scar on his right thigh as he went to the Scotch bottle which waited on the dresser. Sighing deeply, he poured a half-glass from the nearly empty bottle, drank it down. Poured another, carried it with him. The lightning gave him plenty of light as he went back to his bedside, stared at the nightstand. He set the glass down to open the bottom drawer, pulled out a stack of varied items: Emily's first baby pictures, some meaningless Awards and such he'd earned over the course of his career, and dug down to the bottom of the deep drawer.

It was still there; it had been there all this time, untouched but close to hand, memories better left behind. But tonight, for whatever reason, those memories demanded he deal with them. It'd been 20 years. Long enough, perhaps, that he could do them, and her, justice. Long enough to finally put the nightmares to rest.

He pulled out a battered black messenger bag, untied the flap. Dug inside until he found a leather-bound book. Pulled it out and laid the bag aside. He gripped the book and sat on the bed, cradled it on his lap. Caressed the worn black cover, brow furrowed as he touched the dried blood on it. He drew another breath, and took a swig of scotch, before he opened the book. Two mechanical pencils rolled into his palm, and he held them tightly.

It was right on top, smudged with fingerprints of old brown blood and tattered edges. He unfolded the sheet of paper slowly and held it in the blue-white light of the storm, stared at the picture. The face smiled back at him; his own face, 20 years younger, the pencil work faded, but still strong. He touched it, gently, a lover's touch, traced the strokes with which she'd created his portrait, that last sunny day they'd had in the green countryside.

'M so sorry, luv, ' he whispered, and he didn't care that tears ran down his face.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Cal was waiting outside 'Patrick's Gallery and Frame Shoppe' when it opened. He shoved his way in as soon as Patrick unlocked the flashy, ornate glass door.

'Good'ta see you, too, Cal,' Patrick greeted, a note of friendly sarcasm, hustling to get out of Cal's way.

'Ah, yeah,' Cal mumbled, distractedly, with a wave, as he headed straight toward the framing counter, clutching a folder. Patrick sighed, eyebrows raised, and followed, curious.

'Gotta framing job,' Cal said, opening the folder toward Patrick as he swung around behind the counter. Patrick pulled his glasses on, studied the paper Cal slid toward him. A frown buckled his brow as he carefully lifted the portrait from the counter. The paper was obviously old, and fragile. Cal leaned in, almost protectively, then stopped himself, and allowed Patrick to assess the work. Patrick was very good; he would be exceedingly careful with the piece, treat it with respect and care.

'Ah, whatever you think would work with it,' Cal offered, drew Patrick's attention, gesturing toward the paper, but added,

'I was thinking…mahogany..maybe with pewter accents… '

Obviously, it was NOT whatever Patrick thought would work, but what Cal thought would work. Typical.

'Do you want me to mat it, cover up these brown smudges..what is that, anyways?'

'No, no matting. I want it exactly as it is, nothing covered. You can put, like, maybe an edge around there, so it's good with the frame, but nothing should be covered.'

Patrick nodded, used to Cal's odd requests.

"Oh, and one more thing..can you make it so I can read the inscription on the back, easily, when I want? I mean, without having to take it out of the frame?' Patrick flipped the paper, glanced at the words, but out of politeness, refrained from reading it, at least in front of Cal.

'Ok, I'll see what I can do. When do you want this?' Cal shuffled, made a face, ventured,

'This afternoon?' Patrick chuckled, but realized Cal was serious.

'C'mon, Cal,' he chided, 'a bit more time, huh?' Cal nodded, shuffled some more, agreed

'All right, all right…tomorrow, then?' Patrick sighed and shook his head as he laid the picture down with a smile.

'Do my best,' he said, and Cal nodded.

' 's all I ask, mate,' as he turned and headed from the building. Paused at the door, turned back,

'Call me, eh?' and Patrick agreed,

'As soon as I'm done.'

'Right, then,' Cal replied, and was gone.

How odd, Gillian thought. Cal's office door was closed. He never closed it. She rapped, gently, said,

'Cal?' After a few seconds, the door flung open, and Cal met her startled gaze, while blocking her view of the room.

'Everything all right?' she asked, carefully, unable to ignore his expression of distress and sadness.

After a moment, he nodded, cleared his face, and said,

'Oh, yeah.' An obvious lie. He knew that she knew it, too. To her widened eyes, he added,

'Just taking a personal day.' A cue for her to butt out. ' Whattaya need?'

'This fraud case …'

'Get Loker. That's why he's here,' he said, brusquely, trying to get rid of her.

'Anything I can do to help?' she queried, tilted her head, hinted that he take her into his confidence, but he cut her off, sharply,

'Nope,' closed the door, jerked it back open, stared at her a few moments, finally said, in an apologetic tone, with a sad smile,

'Thanks, tho, luv,' and closed the door. He knew she waited to hear him lock it before she left.

Walking back to his desk, he knew what she would be doing next; going to his assistant, Heidi, trying to see if she had any information. Discreetly asking Loker, then Torres, for hints or clues he may have let slip. Then, when all three of them decided they had a desperate need to interfere in his life, they would pool their considerable knowledge and devious tricks to try and crack the mystery of his isolation, his reason for excluding them. It wouldn't work. This one, he had to do alone. No one else could be exposed to ther danger.

He settled back in front of the computer, and stared at the pictures, forehead rested against his palm.

Belfast. The fires, bombings, mobs, and bodies.

Opened the 'Classified' files he'd just hacked into and hit 'print'. While the copier whirred, he recalled memories of the members of his team, lined up in the blurred old photos on the screen:

Captain Richard Murphy, with his shocking black hair and snapping blue eyes, wickedly handsome, wearing a huge red 'Deceased' stamp across his photo.

Sgt. Liam O'Dweyer, the sandy blonde munitions expert with the sharp tongue, marked MIA.

Cpl. Hamish O'Rourke, a true son of Ireland, who'd wanted nothing more than his country to be one country, now listed as Retired.

Glynn Wright, Special Ops, Deceased. The red stamp over her picture felt brutal, blotted out the reality of her existence as if it had never been.

It didn't reveal that she had a wicked wit, that she could hold her own in a drinking match, or bluff like a pro in poker, or that she was a classically trained artist.

He closed his eyes, and remembered his first day in Ireland. How green everything was, like emeralds rolling across the hills. As he disembarked from the plane, he'd tried to understand how such a beautiful place bred so many generations of hatred and hostility.

Months later, tied to a chair in the back room of an IRA bar, facing the rage and pummeling fists of radical activists, he realized he never would.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

'Not gonna happen,' Loker said, shaking his head as he tapped the keyboard, eyed the screen 'and I knew it before we even tried. Lightman owns this system. There's no back door I can find that he hasn't already locked. There's no way we can get eyes on what he's doing.'

Gillian sighed, a huff of frustration, because she'd known that, too.

'Look, are you sure there even IS a problem?' Loker said, turning to her. 'I mean, just because the man wants to work on something alone doesn't mean trouble.'

'No, no it doesn't,' Gillian admitted, 'I just…'

'Don't like him keeping secrets?' Loker observed,

characteristically blunt. Gillian nodded, frustrated, pushed her hair out of her eyes. Loker nodded, sagely, then shrugged.

'Well, everyone has secrets, Foster. I think we should respect that.'

'HE doesn 't,' Gillian snapped, and Loker smiled, reminded,

'And you knew that, too.' She broke down and laughed, sat on Loker's desktop. Loker could see her thinking, and her fingers tapped irritably on each other.

'I guess we just wait,' she finally said, 'and watch,' she added, pointedly, coming to her feet. 'Where's Torres?'

'Out running down some paperwork on the fraud case. Why?'

Gillian pursed her lips and stood, nodded, walked briskly from the room, a woman on a mission. Loker watched her go, shook his head, and tried to go back to what he'd been doing. After a few minutes of faking interest, he flopped back into his chair, chin to chest, lips pouted in contemplation, looked at the computer screen without seeing it.

''One of these days, I am SO gonna get my ass fired,' he decided, and went back at the keyboard with a vengeance.

Cal had spread pictures, collected from the messenger bag and the copier, across his desk, in chronological order, and now hovered over them like a vulture searching for life. Occasionally, his hand would dart in, grab one to examine, then he would return it to it's place, or re-arrange it with another. There were answers here, the truth, and he knew it. Here, or in the files he's hacked, or the unwritten truths kept in someone's mind. That someone was whoever pulled the strings on his stint in Ireland. Whoever had the connections to lift him from MI6 to throw him and his relatively untested theories into one of the most violent and volatile conflicts in Europe. Technically, he hadn't been listed for combat duty, even though he'd been well-trained, and was more than capable. It was a no-brainer that someone getting tangled up in anything IRA extremist would also be highly likely to be confronted with physically violent situations. Actually, more like guaranteed. THAT was the someone he needed to find, and there were enough clues, at least for him, to do that.

Well, he hoped so, anyway.

He moved to the file stacks, shuffled, read, re-read, wandered away to pace, came back to start over. All the while, in the background of his mind, the memories unreeled, like an old movie that he'd seen, a long time ago, but couldn't quite remember how it ran on. He needed to remember it all, from the beginning.

The antique Land Rover jolted down the horribly decrepit road much faster than was comfortable, and Cal held on tight lest he be thrown out the glassless door. He tried to survey the landscape as it passed; lots of smallish, run-down stone houses, but neatly kept, property lines bordered by centuries-old stone piles. The fields were painfully green, well-groomed, dotted with sheep or goats, tended by the constant attentions of both shepherds and insanely intelligent Collies. The late summer weather was lovely, with the trees just starting to turn. They passed through several small villages, whose names and locations in relation to one another Cal had memorized during his weeks of preparation.

'Bloody hell, Hamish' Cal complained, after the Rover nearly flipped from running into a huge crater, 'What's the rush, eh?'

Hamish laughed, a booming, loud bellow, and downshifted.

'S 'amatter? Used to a bit more civilized accommodations?' and the Rover jolted again, rattled Cal's teeth.

'Oi, yeah,' he shouted, then laughed at the entire thing. If this was the worst he had to endure here, well, then, life would be good. Hamish laughed along with him, blue eyes bright, curly black hair going every which way in the sweet breeze which zoomed in where the windows should have been.

'Home', Hamish said, cheerfully, when they pulled up to the warmly lit Inn. Cal eyed the sign unhappily. 'The Bloody Hand', it read, with a matching illustration.

'That's just lovely,' he grumbled, climbing out of the Rover. Darkness had blanketed the land long since, and the sounds of laughter, and the smell of food and spirits surrounded the old Inn.

Cal hefted two of his bags from the back, while Hamish collected the other two, and led him inside.

All the chatter halted as Cal crossed the threshold, and dozens of unfriendly gazes hit him squarely. He'd expected as much, and kept his expression carefully neutral. He scanned the room, full of rough-looking, squarely built working men, seated around worn wooden tables, holding tankards. A fire burned low on the huge hearth, since it was a warm summer's eve.

'Ay there, Hamish!' someone shouted, ' You find that along the road? If you've planned on that 'fer a meal, you'll be goin' hungry, aye?' and laughter came back into the air.

'Sorry 't say, he's me Cousin, lads. London-raised, so he's not much 't talk about,' Hamish replied, loudly, with a forced smile, almost daring anyone to protest Cal's presence, or the working-class London

accent they would notice as soon as he opened his mouth. There were a few discontented growls, but obviously Hamish had more friends and supporters here than he had enemies.

'So, can he hold his own with a pint?'

'Patience, lads! Let him get a meal, and a room, then ye can have at 'im.'

'Keepin' him outta your house? Afraid he'll steal Tess from ye?' Several men laughed, roughly, and some rude comments flew.

'No room there, not with the boys,' Hamish reminded, with a hard

look, which more or less silenced the hecklers, who went back to

their meals and drinks, though still stealing looks across the room.

Not necessarily friendly looks, either.

Cal followed Hamish through the main room, ignored the urge to glance back and see who was, and who was not, eyeing him, on up the ridiculously narrow staircase, to a smallish loft room.

'It'll be naught 't worry 'bout. Give it a day or so,' Hamish assured him, as he dumped Cal's bags in a corner. Cal nodded, more than a little nervous now that he was actually in the game. The plan, set up over the past months, had sounded pretty simple; let Cal gain the trust of the locals, so that when Hamish brought him in to 'The Meeting', he wouldn't be instantly lynched. The way had been carefully prepped; Hamish had been chatting up his 'cousin' with the strong anti-Royals leanings for weeks.

Hamish and the rest of the team had been told that Cal was a carefully set-up MI6 Black-Op Specialist with deep cover in the IRA, and he was there to bring the local splinter group under the wing of the main branch. That was the story, but it was a lie. Only Cal knew the dangerous truth, and he was now having serious doubts about just how simple this was actually going to be.

He set his bags on the bed, which creaked alarmingly, and Hamish, who was easily six foot two, pounded him on the back, nearly knocking him over.

'Ready?' he questioned, and Cal saw the real concern on his face. This was no game. It could easily turn into a life and death situation as things played out, and they both knew it.

'Bit late for that question, in'nit?' Cal replied, felt a little shaky. Hamish grinned, reassuringly.

'Come on down 'n we'll have a bite.' Cal nodded, squared his shoulders and followed Hamish.

The food was really very good, Cal thought. Warm biscuits with goat cheese and fresh honey, lamb stew, and a really dark local Stout that would knock you on your ass if you drank it carelessly.

He made sure he did NOT drink it that way.

The crowd had thinned considerably, as the majority had to rise early and get off to work. Hamish introduced him 'round as Cal Marsters, and his overall reading off the crowd was distrust and suspicion.

Two men, in particular, he made note of ; Seamus and Sean O'Malley, brothers, both in the top 10 of their Most Wanted watch list. These two were shakers and movers in the radical splinter group he was here to infiltrate. Neither gave away much; guarded smiles, sharp gazes, seemingly innocent questions that were in no way carelessly chosen. Both men were quick-witted and clever.

Sean was the older, and clearly in charge, a tallish blonde with harsh blue eyes, several scars, and a nose that had been broken more than once. His features were rough, his frame lean and muscular. He was openly hostile, but kept enough of an edge of politeness to pacify Hamish so he could keep sitting at the table with them. His hands, large and work-worn, casually kept themselves busy holding a tankard of stout, and his smile was closer to a snarl.

Seamus was shorter, stockier, with darker hair and a more open expression. A follower.

When Hamish ducked out to use the loo, Sean apparently felt it was a good time to attack Cal verbally.

'From London, eh?' Sean said, a sneer, which first held disgust, then anger. Cal smiled, deliberately, apologized, sharply

'Sorry, mate. Can't choose my parents.'

Seamus laughed, said,

'True enough.'

'But, I can choose my allegiances,' Cal observed, a flat tone, chewing a mouthful of stew.

Sean darted him a look, brow wrinkled, confusion, and Cal met his gaze squarely, unflinching.

'Aye, that you can,' Seamus agreed, nodded. He was going to be easier to win over than his brother.

'What brings you here?' Sean asked, eyes sharp on Cal. Cal smiled, took a chug of his brew, said in a guarded tone,

'Things.' He was careful to keep his expression neutral around his fake smile. Sean's smile never changed, but his eyes narrowed. Suspicion.

'Right, then,' Sean said, stood. ' 'M sure we'll be seein' ye around.'

' 'M sure you will,' Cal said, lifted his mug in a gesture of acknowledgement before taking a long draft.

As the brothers drifted out of the room and into the night, a deep voice said, right in Cal's ear,

'That went right well, don't you think?' Cal jerked around, met the clean blue eyes of the man whose picture had identified him as Richard Murphy. He laughed at Cal's expression, and went around to the opposite side of the table and sat, waving for the serving girl to run him over a tankard.

'Oh, yeah…smooth as butter,' Cal griped, eyeing his empty mug with disappointment.

'Richard Murphy,' he introduced himself, gave Cal's hand a sturdy shake.

'Cal Marsters.'

The girl arrived, carrying two mugs.

Murphy laughed, a comfortable sound, and he relaxed with forearms on the table. His calm was easy to feel, and it eased Cal's nerves somewhat. His handsome face was open and friendly, and it had the lines of someone who smiled a lot. He swiped bangs out of his eyes, and pushed one of the mugs Cal's way. He lifted his, and toasted Cal before drinking,

'Well, then, Cal Marsters…here's to new friends, and old scotch.' Cal laughed, agreed,

'Aye.'

The loud warning 'ping' from Cal's computer jerked him out of his reverie, and he went quickly to scan the monitor.

'Well, THAT was fast,' he murmured, zooming the security camera's vision tight on the two suits entering the first floor lobby. He wasn't about to wait and see who was onto him for the hacked files; FBI, CIA, MI6, there were so many choices. He stacked all the papers and pictures as neatly as possible while still being fast, stuffed them into a duffel. He stepped over, unlocked and opened his main office door, then slipped through toward the back exit, pulling out his cell phone. Ducking into the stairwell, he called Heidi.

'Yeah, I'm goin' out for the afternoon,' he told her, going down as fast as his feet could move. 'No calls, right?' He tapped the phone off, hit the main floor of the building, and was out the door, just as Gillian was leading the two men toward his office.

'I'm really not sure if he's in,' she was saying, over her shoulder, frowning as she noticed his door propped open. She stopped, rapped lightly, said,

'Cal?' and stepped in when she got no response. She smiled, shrugging, as she faced the men, apologized,

'I'm sorry. Let me check with his assistant, see if he's available.'

The men watched her retreating form, exchanged knowing looks. They refrained from going in to his office without express permission, but

did feel free to survey the room. The clack of Gillian's heels drew their attention back to her.

'Apparently, he's out for the afternoon,' she informed them. Neither man's expression changed, but one of them said, a distinct London-born accent,

'Have him call Collin.' Gillian's brows raised, as she waited for them to give her a number. When he didn't, she just nodded, and led them back to the lobby. She finished all the necessary pleasantries, and assurances, closed the door. It took all her willpower to stop herself from running to Loker's desk.

She rushed in, breathless, but he wasn't surprised. He'd been logged in to all the security cameras for hours, waiting for Lightman to emerge from his office.

'He ducked out the minute those two got here,' Loker said, pulling up the footage of Cal hustling out of the building, 'Which means he was expecting trouble, because he had the main lobby monitors up.' Gillian pursed her lips, irritably, said,

'He was into something he's shouldn't have been.' Nothing new, there, and both of them knew it.

They both leaned in and squinted for a close look at the duffle bag he was carrying, but neither one had any idea what to make of it.

'Pull up the footage of our visitors,' Gillian said, and Loker had it there in a few seconds.

Any idea who these guys are?' Loker asked, and Gillian replied,

'No idea, except this one,' she pointed at the taller of the two, 'definitely has an English accent.' Loker's brows lifted, and he murmured, 'Interesting.'

'He told me to tell Cal to 'call Collin'. But, he never gave me a number.'

'Which means they are old acquaintances,' Loker surmised. Gillian nodded, agreement, as Loker zoomed in on the fellows' features, took a still frame shot of both men and pulled them out for reference.

'Who is 'Collin'? Gillian said, softly, and Loker shook his head.

'I'm on it,' he assured her, diving into the keyboard.

'Was Torres ready?' she asked, and Loker nodded.

'Absolutely. I texted her as soon as Lightman hit his office door. I just hope she can tail him without being spotted.' Gillian met his gaze, made a face; they both knew that Torres had her work cut out for her.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The solid 'whup-whup' of the choppers' blades sounded dull and distant, cutting the air above Cal's head as the bird came in for a landing. Around him, the landscape lurched unsteadily, lit by flashes of explosions and the chopper's landing lights. Cal realized someone was dragging him across the street, toward the chopper, because he certainly wasn't able to walk there, himself, not they way his head was ringing and his vision spun. He made a feeble effort to use his legs, but the right one folded immediately.

'I got 'cha!' a voice shouted in his ear. He looked to his left, recognized Murphy, his face blood-spattered, twisted in a fierce grimace of pain and determination. Cal's concentration reeled away toward unconsciousness, but he forced himself back, tried to say something to Murphy, but couldn't form the words.

Murphy slung him into the open door of the chopper; from inside, hands grabbed him, dragged him the rest of the way in. Murphy was climbing up, he was nearly safe on board…when the bullets ripped into his back. Cal heard himself screaming,

'NO!' as he watched Murphy's face crumple into a mask of pain, then fade into the dark shadow of death. Murphy fell backwards, out of the chopper, into the dirt of the street. Cal struggled to sit up, to see, but they were holding him down, yelling for him to stop, the bird was lifting off, there was more gunfire, God, so many bullets…he heard the low deadly buzz as they streaked past his head. He felt a violent slam against his left shoulder, barely recognized he'd caught a round until someone beside him wrestled him down, forcing a compress tight against it.

'Dr. Lightman, please, Sir! You must lay still!' Someone behind them was yelling 'GO! GO! GO!'

The chopper lifted so fast the G-force pinned him down. Some of the men beside him returned fire at the ground forces, the empty shell casings pelting him where he lay, unable to move. He blinked, tried to see, but his eyes were refusing to focus. The fellow who was keeping pressure on his shoulder kept talking to him, and Cal realized he was trying to keep him awake as the chopper finally outdistanced the conflict on the ground below. He tried to listen to the men around him, but their voices blurred, came and went as he wavered between

wakefulness, and unconsciousness. Some officer was calling in a preliminary report about the incident, said that Lightman was the only operative recovered. Recovered? What a horrible, insensitive word, Cal thought, as he faded to black.

Cal rubbed his left shoulder, fingers absently massaging the muscles, rotated it against the deep ache which seemed to have settled there the past couple years. He pushed back into the cushions of the restaurants' seat, and reached for his tea. His other hand ruffled through the duffel bag beside him, and pulled out a photograph.

Him, and Glynn. She was wrapped close against him, and they were both grinning like idiots. The sun glistened off her hair, and her face was pressed to his, cheek to cheek. Her eyes sparkled like sapphires, and her teeth flashed behind perfect lips. He was a stranger to his own eyes; he barely recognized what he looked like with a smile on his face. Despite himself, he smiled, remembering when he'd first

met her.

She was sitting outside the Inn, on a bench, with a fresh cup of tea beside her, sketching, when he came out late that morning. He recognized her from her dossier file; Glynn Wright. She was Special Ops, and much prettier than the photo. Cal straightened, ran a hand through his hair, realized he hadn't bothered to comb it, decided not to worry. He was here for a dangerous mission, and she was just another member of the team. Of course, he wasn't supposed to know who she was, and vice versa.

He was sure that there were lots of eyes on his every move, so he was careful not to give anything away. He wandered towards her, attention captured by her artwork. She didn't seem to notice him there, so intent on capturing the likenesses of the two lads tumbling about in the street, chasing a lamb. Her hands were quick, stokes bold

and confident. He was amazed how fast she turned the blank sheet of paper into a small work of art. He ended up standing behind her, looking over her shoulder, hands stuffed in his pockets. She smelled like lavender, and roses, and her long hair was auburn red in the warm morning sun. It was pinned up, behind her ears, with sparkly silver clips, so it would stay out of her work. Her lashes fluttered like butterflies as she glanced between her pencil strokes and her subjects, mouth set in a line of concentration. Her hands were graceful, but strong. He was so mesmerized, watching, that when she spoke, he jumped.

''Mornin'.'

'Ah, 'mornin',' he managed, shuffled his feet like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

'That's amazing work,' he offered, and she gave a small laugh.

'Thanks. I dash off a couple dozen every few weeks, so I can run 'em in to Belfast. There's a dealer there who gets me big bucks from tourists.' Her vocal inflection and minimal trace of an accent spoke of her higher education, a very pricey one.

'Gets me spending money,' she said, a tone crossed between annoyance and amusement.

Cal heard something else in her voice, asked,

'But, it's not what you really love doin', is it?' She finally looked around and met his gaze, and he saw her eyes were this amazing mix of night blue and emerald green. Bangs brushed down over arched eyebrows. Her surprised expression was asking how he knew that, and he shrugged.

'I love my art,' she said, truthfully,' but, my favorite subjects are portraits.'

'Ah. Well, I hope I can see one, someday,' he said, extended his hand to her.

'Cal Marsters.' She passed her pencil to the other hand to accept his. Her hand was cool, broad, palms and fingers a bit rough, not the hands of a lady. Her grip was firm as she shook his.

'Glynn Wright.'

'Ay, I see ye've met our local Picasso,' a voice Cal recognized as Murphy's called out, headed their direction. Glynn looked his way,

made a face, and blew him a raspberry. Murphy laughed. She shook her head, smiled, took her pencil back up, and fell to the finishing touches of her work. Cal noticed she was using mechanical pencils, which seemed odd; he'd asked her about that, once, and she'd told him that they were her choice out in the field because they never needed sharpening.

Cal turned, ruffled through the duffel bag, found her messenger bag, inside it. Opened it, pulled out her favorite pencil. It was a black Scripto, with silver trim. He rolled it in his fingers, held it, like she had, when she drew. His grip looked clumsy, where hers had always been graceful and confident. His fingers caressed the slim barrel, his face a study in sadness and loss. It was the closest we would ever get to touching her, again. His breath caught, and he realized that, of all the old pains he carried in his body, the ache he felt in his heart right now was the worst.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Cal checked his watch, put Glynn's pencil back in the bag, and zipped it closed. Drained the last of his tea, and motioned the waitress over.

'Ah, Heather, there'll be some friends of mine showin' up here, anytime,' he told her, 'You remember Foster, Torres?' Heather nodded, smiled, her blonde curls bobbing,

'Sure, Cal.' He stood, ruffled through his wallet, handed her some money and his car keys.

'Well, when they do, give 'em my keys, and tell 'em to run my car back to the office, right?' She laughed, took the items, shook her head.

' G'Night, Cal,' she said, with a wave over her shoulder, going back to the front of the restaurant.

' Night,' he answered, picked up the duffel, and headed out through the kitchen and the rear exit, where a taxi waited. He slid in, and gave the driver an address about two blocks from his house.

By the time he'd walked the two blocks, it was dark enough for Cal to slip up to the back door, unseen. As soon as he stepped into the dark kitchen, he knew there was trouble. He could see a silhouette sitting on one of the barstools, facing the door. He froze, then snapped on the light over the sink.

It was Loker, wearing an expression of mixed annoyance, fear,

and apology. Cal was opening his mouth to ask his employee what the hell he was doing in his house, when a second figure stepped into the light. Cal's face, which had been angry, changed to surprise.

'Collin,' Cal said, shifted back a step, as if he might bolt out the back door, and run.

'What, you don' want to visit with an old friend?' Collin said, standing casually, hands in pockets of a very expensive suit. He was a tall man, graying dark hair combed away from his face. He had strong features, and harsh green eyes. He smiled, his thin lips like a razor cut across his face. Despite his nonchalant air, he had the feel of a very dangerous man.

'You didn't call,' Collin said, matter-of-factly.

'Didn' know I was supposed to,' Cal growled, weight still shifted to run. He glanced at Loker, who, by the look on his face, was hoping Cal wouldn't.

'Well, if you'd just take your messages, instead of duckin' out the back door, you'd know it, wouldn't 'cha?'

'There 'r certain Agencies that prompt that reaction in me,'

Cal said, bitterly, shuffled, again, committed to move further into the room, but kept a guarded eye sharply on Collin, and the counter between them. Collin laughed.

'Still not the trusting sort, eh, Cal?'

'Well, you know better 'n most why that is, don'cha?' Cal snapped back, and Collin's smile faded. Loker, caught in between the two men, kept his attention floating between both their expressions.

At Cal's words, Collin's face revealed deep regret. He sighed, and

nothing about him suggested he was going to offer Cal any violence. Loker considered relaxing, just a little, but decided against it.

'What'd ye need the files for?' he asked.

' 'M involved in an investigation,' Cal defended.

'For who?'

'Nah, nah, nah, client information is strictly privileged, mate,' Cal chided, shaking a finger at Collin like a naughty child, and Loker could see he was furious. Collin sighed again, and he clearly felt guilt over something. Loker sat up, straighter; he was obviously going to have a front row seat for whatever Cal had been up to.

''If ye'd just called me, I'd a sent ye the files,' Collin told him, quietly. Cal was clearly confused by Collin's reaction, and his face ran through a half-dozen emotions.

'Why now, Cal? It's been twenty years. Ye haven't wondered, before this?' Cal wavered on his feet, like a boxer ready to go down beneath too many blows. He started to answer, twice, before he managed to admit,

'I…I dunno.'

Collin gave a knowing smile, said,

'Ah, but I DO know, Cal. Your run-in with Doyle called up some old ghosts, eh?' Cal clenched his jaw, nodded slightly, looked away, shame. Collin made a clucking sound, shook his head.

'Well, I'm not surprised.'

Collin looked at the floor, and walked past Loker toward the half-open door. He stopped on the threshold, turned toward Cal, who still looked ready to bolt.

'Jus' CALL me, Cal,' he said, with a sigh,' If I can help ye get to the truth, all ye need to do…is ask. You, and the others, 've deserved it, for a long time. They should rest in peace, 'n you, of all people, are entitled to it. 'N ye know, I wouldn' mind knowin, either.'

Cal deflated, all his anger and defensiveness gone. His frame drooped, tiredly, and he nodded, gratefully. Took the few steps toward Collin to shake his proffered hand. He nodded thanks, and Collin stepped out the door, closed it.

Cal stood, staring at the door, long moments, as if he'd forgotten about Loker. Loker shifted on the stool, and Cal spun on him, finger pointed, demanded, an angry shout,

'What are you doin', in MY house?' Loker almost fell over backwards, palms raised defensively,

'I was waiting, outside. Collin brought me in. Forcefully.' Cal backed off, accepted the truth, but still wasn't happy. Took Loker by the elbow, hauled him toward the door, intent on tossing him out. Loker dragged his feet, said,

'Cal, c'mon, man…what's going on?'

'None 'o your business,' Cal snapped, jerked the door open.

'True,' Loker agreed, 'but, I can help. I know who Collin is, and what he does, AND how he's tied to you.' Cal paused, met Loker's eye. Cal's eyes glittered, like daggers, in the low light, as he looked at Loker from beneath lowered brows.

'Who else knows?' His tone was dangerous.

'I haven't told anyone,' he said. Cal nodded, acceptance. Squared his stance to look Loker directly in the face.

'You know he was lyin', right?' Cal told him, deadly serious, 'They set out to catch a rat, twenty years ago, and they're still lookin'. They don't give a bloody damn about truth, or justice, for…' Cal paused, clearly changed what he was going to say,' for me, or anyone else. They're still not above usin' me, as a trap, or as bait. 'S a dangerous game, Loker. 'R you still in?'

Loker straightened, face crossed with confusion, surprise, curiosity., and he nodded, shrugged,

'You wanted me out the office, more. Guess this is a good time as any to start.' Cal studied Loker's features few moments, then shoved a warning finger in his face, said,

'Go home. I'll call ya in the morning. Not a WORD to Gillian, eh?'

Loker gave a brief nod, saw himself out the rest of the way. Just outside the closed door he stopped, shook his head and took a long, deep breath.

'Whoa,' he said, quietly, before moving off to his car.

'Hey, Marsters,' Glynn called, as her Jeep rolled up alongside Cal, stopped. 'Let's go for a ride, eh?' Cal looked across the seat, saw Hamish driving. He stuffed hands in his pockets, said,

'Where?'

'S a surprise,' Hamish told him, and his expression warned Cal that it wasn't an invitation, but an order. Cal shrugged, and Glynn hopped out to allow him to slip past her, get in the back seat. She bumped against him as he climbed past, slid a tightly folded piece of paper into his hand. Confused, he met her eye, but she shook her head, and gave a slight incline toward Hamish, a warning. He frowned, gripped it tight, and made his way into the small back seat. Glynn reclaimed her seat, and Hamish shifted, floored it, and sent them flying out of town in a cloud of dust.

Cal had been here an entire uneventful week, with very little contact with Sean, Seamus, or the members of his team, so this impromptu kidnapping came as a real surprise. He'd passed a few words with them over meals, seen them on the street, but nothing more. He'd been pretty much left on his own. He shifted his posture in the back so Hamish couldn't see him in the rearview, and unfolded the note.

'Thought it was time you got a tour of the countryside,' Hamish was saying, driving across the fields recklessly. Glynn held on, tight,

gave a covert glance back at Cal. He read fear, which was not good.

'Kinda hard to enjoy it, back here,' Cal sniped, maneuvering the paper to a spot where he could see it. Hamish laughed.

'Aye, but I'll gi'e ye the front seat on the way back, eh?'

'If I live that long,' Cal retorted, and Hamish's laughter faded. His expression grew grim as he looked at Glynn, and he put his attention back on the narrow path through the fields. With Hamish's eyes off him, Cal read the note;

'Armed audition with Sean. Good luck'.

What the hell…? he wondered, a hundred possibilities running through his mind, none of them good. He refolded the note, jammed it into his back pocket, and tried to figure the odds of coming back from this trip, alive.

They drove several kilometers in silence, before Hamish piloted them over a rise, down into a lush green valley. Cal looked out, saw a dozen or so figures waiting at the bottom of the hill. Hamish pulled up next to them; Sean, Seamus, Murphy, and a few other fellows he'd met at the Inn over the last few evenings. None of them were smiling, and Sean was carrying an M-16, slung over his shoulder. Several others were also armed. Sean met them as they unloaded from the Jeep, wearing his snarl-grin.

'Hamish has been telling me ye'r one 'o us, Marsters,' he said, and it was obvious that he didn't believe it. Cal set his feet, met Sean's eye, said, firmly,

' 'S right.' There were sniggers from the men, one of them spat at Cal's feet. Cal glared at him, refused to give ground.

'Well, then, ye'll have no problem wi' this, then,' Sean said, motioned for a fellow to be dragged into sight from behind the rest. His hands were bound, and he looked afraid. Not panicked, just afraid. Cal narrowed his gaze at the man, tried to verify exactly what he was seeing, then threw a quick read at Sean and Seamus as Sean continued;

'This blighter 's Paderick. He 's gonna Judas us out to RAC. 'N we can't have that.' Sean unslung the gun, handed it to Cal, who took it. 'We need to teach buggers like this a lesson, not to screw w' us. Else there'll be a steep price 't pay.' Sean's implication was clear; Cal had to execute Paderick to prove his loyalties.

The men holding the tied fellow cleared away from him, left an open line of fire between him and Cal. Scowling, Cal gripped the weapon, racked the safety off, readied a round, reading the crowd as fast as he could; the ones with weapons were holding theirs ready to fire, but their attention was on Cal, not the supposed 'traitor'. No one

was watching to be sure Paderick didn't run, and none of them seemed at all concerned that he would. Instead, they were all concentrating on Cal. The bound man stood, unmoving, showing no inclination to run; some fear, but no real panic. A man, facing execution, should be displaying extreme body language and anxiety.

Cal gritted his teeth, shouldered the weapon, aimed at the prisoner, set his feet, and pulled the trigger in a short burst. The gun was large caliber, and Cal wasn't a large man; the recoil shoved him around, and casings spattered the ground.

He lowered the barrel and looked a Paderick, who stood there, untouched, but now looked to be in need of fresh trousers.

The gun had been loaded with blanks. It had been a test, pure and simple, and if Cal had refused to shoot Paderick, he's have been the one being shot. And, not with blanks.

The crowd of men burst into laughter and cheers, lowering their weapons, and moving in to slap Cal on the shoulder in grand camaraderie. Paderick wasn't quite so happy, and seemed a bit unsteady as he punched one of the others to untie him.

'Ye said he would 'n do it,' Paderick snapped, visibly shaken, and his comrades laughed, the cruel laughter of dangerous men.

Cal thrust the gun back at Sean, who looked at him with grudging respect. After exchanging looks with Seamus, Murphy and Hamish, he finally extended his hand to Cal, said, guardedly,

'Well, then, Cal Marsters, welcome to the fam' ly.' Cal hesitated a moment, before accepting. Inside, he was shaking so hard he feared he'd fall, but he made sure that Sean saw only his resolve.

'Next time, jus' call me Mum, eh?' he growled, drawing fresh howls of laughter from the men. Cal turned, headed back toward the Jeep, met Glynn's eye.

Shock, surprise, fear, concern, some other things, but he was too rattled to worry about it. Hamish refused to meet his angry gaze, but handed Glynn the Jeep keys, and moved off to join the others. Cal climbed into the Jeep, stared straight ahead. Glynn climbed in, started the Jeep, and drove them away.

About halfway back, she rolled to a halt, looked at Cal. He refused to give her his eyes, kept them glued on the windshield.

'Marsters, I'm sorry,' she said, but her tone wasn't apologetic, just matter-of-fact. 'I only found out a few minutes before we picked you up.'

'Found out what?' Cal snapped, loud anger, 'That he was bloody well ready to execute me?' She shook her head, sharply,

'No. Hamish just said that he was goin' to 'test' your loyalty.

And, anything that Sean does…involves weapons. I had no idea what he was about.' Cal shot his eyes to her face, saw no deception, just regret, and relief.

' 'M sure he sent Hamish 'n me together so neither of us could warn you, if we were so inclined.' Cal's brow furrowed, he narrowed his eyes at her, searching for the best read. After several seconds, he was satisfied at what he saw, and reined in his anger.

' 'M glad you were 'so inclined'. Thanks fer the warnin',' he told her, gratefully, and she relaxed, smiled, nodded. She puckered her brows, curiosity, turned the upper half of her body toward him, asked,

'How'd you know they were blanks?' Cal shrugged, told her,

' Didn't. I just guessed, by Paderick's expression. He wasn't really afraid.' She shook her head, amazed and impressed, said,

'Damn, you're a weird bloke.' Chuckled, then gave him a wide smile, tilted her head thoughtfully, said in a bit of a teasing tone,

'Now you're vetted, Marsters. Part 'o the crew. Not off-limits, anymore. Maybe I'll let you beat me at cards, tonight.' Cal smiled, tilted his head to match her posture, intrigued, said, brows raised,

'Oh, aye?' She laughed, her eyes flashing with mischief in the sunlight, leaned closer and added an incentive, as if he needed one,

'I'll even buy you a beer.' He studied her face, carefully, then

smiled, slowly. She was pretty, tough, and interesting. Perhaps, even, interested.

'Make it two,' he bargained, and she chuckled, agreed,

' Right, then,' and shifted the Jeep back in gear, drove them the rest of the way into town.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Loker nearly broke his neck, trying to thrash his way clear of the bed sheets to get to his clamoring phone. He tripped as his feet hit the floor, bashed his knee, and knocked his phone off the nightstand. Fortunately, it was lit so he could find it in the pre-dawn darkness. He answered it with some weird mumble, tried to see his clock, wondered who would be calling him in the middle of the night, what disaster had occurred.

'Oi, Loker? You 'wake?' Cal's voice barked, and Loker sagged back against his bed frame, rubbed his aching knee. Eyes closed, he winced, from both his knee and his horribly demanding boss.

' Am now,' he mumbled, 'What time iz 'zit?'

'Five. I need you to come get me, we need to run 'n pick up some files on the way to the office.'

Loker rubbed his eyes, ran a hand through his hair, blinked, said,

'Five? Don't you sleep?'

'No.'

'Don't YOU have a car?'

'Nah, Foster and Gillian took it to the office, last night. How fast can 'y be here?'

' Mmmmmm, gimme an hour?'

'Thirty minutes,' Cal informed him, hung up. Loker sighed,

tossed his phone over his head onto the bed, groaned.

'Kill me nowww…'

Cal gave Loker the hairy eyeball as he got into his car, surveying his rumpled clothes, red eyes, uncombed curls and scruffier than usual face, said,

'Rough night, eh?'

'What night?' Loker complained, 'I just got to sleep when you called.' Cal made a face that implied a complete lack of sympathy, whined,

'Sorry, Sleepin' Beauty,' toughened his tone, 'Got work 't do. Drive.'

'Where?'

'Top Secret, mate. Just turn where I tell ya. An' remember, if you tell anyone, I'll hafta kill ya.' Loker looked at Cal, who gave him a wicked smile, and an evil laugh. Loker, who really hadn't been in any mood to see Lightman at this early hour, raised his brows in surprise at his boss's rare humor. Put it down to sleep deprivation, he decided; his, Lightman's, whoever, as he pulled away from the curb.

Thanks to Lightman's obsession, and a huge tankard of espresso, Loker was already buzzing around the office when Torres rounded the corner. As soon as she spotted him, her face crinkled with anger, and

her steps grew faster as she tried to intercept him before he could dodge out of the room.

'Hey, what happened last night?' she demanded, irritably, 'you were supposed to call.'

'Sorry. Got waylaid,' he offered, tried not to meet her eye. She sat her purse and coffee down, shook her head, refusal to accept his explanation.

'No, no, not good enough,' she shot back, stepped in front of him, searching his face. He tried to wipe it clean, so she could only see a blank look, but still she spotted a trace of the truth.

'What? You know something, spit it out.' Loker tightened his lips, shook his head,

'Can't. Gotta go.'

'Hey, what happened to your 'radical honesty'?' she taunted. He gave a sickly smile, told her,

'That was it.' She tried intimidating him with body language, but

he weaseled past her, and headed straight toward Lightman's office. Torres considered following him, decided, instead, to try and hack into his computer to see what he was hiding.

She grabbed her coffee, pulled up her chair, and fired up the monitor.

Loker slipped into Lightman's office, closed to door tight behind him. Cal snapped erect from whatever he'd been leaning over on the desktop, and came to meet him. His face was not happy as he demanded,

'What?' Loker shuffled his feet a little, took a deep breath, said,

'You need to bring in Foster and Torres.' Cal's face immediately grew dark, and he snapped,

'Why? Not up to it?' but Loker pushed ahead,

'Look, I can get through all those files, but it'll take weeks. There are, what, five cartons? Plus the e-files? Torres has a talent for this kinda stuff, and Foster has the Psycho-science. She'll be able to narrow the list down, just based on her experience.' Cal shoved his face close in to Lokers, eyes boring into him, but Loker stood his ground. Cal was just opening his mouth to retort, when Gillian threw the door open, and stalked angrily up to the two men. Loker wisely gave ground; Cal didn't. Loker noticed that Cal was often unwise around Gillian. She ignored Loker, shoved Cal's keys toward him.

'I'm not a valet,' she sniped, irritably, dropped them into his hand. Loker tried to slip away, but she turned sharply toward him, snapped,

'I'm not through with you. Stay.' Loker froze, considering where he would go to look for work once he got fired from the Lightman Group. Gillian turned her attention back to Cal, began what was obviously a carefully rehearsed speech,

'Look, Cal, I don't know exactly what is going on, but we are a team, here, and we all need to work together.'

'Right', Cal cut in, startling both Gillian and Loker. Her tirade interrupted, she looked confused, said,

'Right, about what?'

'All 'o you, bein' in on this. I was just gonna call you in 't help,

seein'z how Loker isn't up to doin' the job by himself.' Frustrated by Cal's continued harassing of him, Loker opened his mouth to protest the twisting of his earlier logic, but never got the chance.

'Get Torres in here, 'n I'll explain,' Cal told her, briskly, shooing her away. Too surprised to reply, Gillian looked at Loker, warned, 'I'm still not done with you', then hurried out, clearly anxious to get to the truth of Cal's secretive behavior, as quickly as possible. Cal motioned Loker closer, spoke quietly, tried to make him understand something,

'Look, Loker, there's…uncomfortable things, in them files. Bloody nasty photos, graphic descriptions, from terrorist operations….'

'I'll try to keep them away from Gillian,' Loker assured him, and Cal met his eye, surprised, said gratefully, 'Thanks.' Loker was basking in the unexpected gratitude when he suddenly realized that Lightman looked like hell; wondered when was the last time he'd slept. Cal turned away, waved Loker toward the private part of his office, where he'd set up a command station for Loker to work, out of view of the rest of his employees. Loker studied Cal's retreating back for a few seconds, before heading over to the stacks of files spread out all over.

Cal had just finished cleaning a sheaf of papers and photographs off his desk when the girls arrived. He tucked them carefully into a duffel, and pointedly set them aside. Clearly, whatever those papers were, he wasn't about to share them. He motioned for them to join him in the chaos zone, where Loker already was. Torres and Foster found spots; Torres stood, clearly peeved at Loker, because she stayed as far away from him as possible, and Foster took up a post close to

Cal, her expression decidedly annoyed. Loker paused at his work, and all three put eyes on Cal.

Cal shuffled his feet, studied the floor, and his face ran a gamut of emotions as he struggled to come to grips with how to share what was happening with the three people who were probably closest to him, outside his own family. Those three people waited, patiently as possible, for him to begin.

'Aw 'right,' Cal began, 'Loker knows some of what I'm about to tell you,' Torres shot Loker an evil glare, 'but only because I chose to bring him in. I was tryin'…' he paused, reframing his thoughts,' OK, maybe it's naïve, but I wanted to protect you,' he gestured, indicated Gillian and Torres 'from…this.' He pointed at the daunting mass of paperwork spread across every flat surface in the room, with more boxes yet to unload. He paced, kept his eyes moving between all three of them, but mostly focused on the floor, in an effort to keep the strength of his emotions concealed.

'What is 'this', exactly?' Gillian prompted, and Cal flinched as if she'd physically poked him.

'My history with the IRA,' he finally said, a pained tone, and he didn't manage to keep those feelings from his face.

'You were IRA?' Torres blurted out, then covered her mouth with her hand, too late. The girls exchanged glances; Torres wore confusion, surprise, concern, Foster's face was carefully blank. She knew he'd done undercover work, but had no idea how deep he'd been in, no details. Of course, the files were not exactly public knowledge.

'Cal,' Gillian said, quietly, 'wasn't that a long time ago?' Cal nodded, said,

'Twenty years. I was under cover with MI6, tangled up with a radical splinter group. Almost a year.' He closed his eyes, struggling with memories. 'I was tryin' to spot a traitor in the group. Someone was turnin' under cover Operatives over to the IRA, 'n they were get 'tin executed. The brass wanted to test my theories, see if they were valid, or even viable, in combat situations. Plus, they wanted the wanker responsible.'

'Did you find him?' Torres asked, quietly, and Cal shook his head, defeat in his entire posture.

'Foster reminded me, once, that when you're dealin' with terrorists, there's gonna be collateral damage. 'N it's true. Good people died 'cause I couldn't find 'im.' Cal could see them all questioning why this mattered now, so long after the fact, and, really, he couldn't rationally explain that, even to himself, so he didn't try. Focused on the floor, he added, calmly,

'Two of 'em were my best mates,' almost as an afterthought. The room fell very quiet, and the three traded looks.

'I wanna find out who it was,' Cal said, bluntly, looking back up at them, and Gillian and Torres' expressions were disbelief. Loker's face showed he'd already accepted the fact that Lightman was moderately insane. OK, mostly insane.

'WHY?' Torres laughed, a short huff of confusion, and annoyance,

'Why does it matter, now? Isn't it a little late?'

Cal stepped briskly toward her, a threatening posture, and Torres backed away as he came up into her face.

'D 'ya think the Statute of Limitations should expire on the truth?' he demanded, angrily, shoving a finger at her face.

'N..no, of course not,' she managed, dodging to keep his finger out of her eyes.

'That encounter with Jimmy Doyle really got to you, didn't it?' Gillian asked, carefully, falling back on her psychology training in an attempt to diffuse Cal's rage. He spun on her, eyes snapping fire, and it was clear she'd hit on the truth. She was playing him, and he knew it.

'You recognized yourself in how he still felt, even after so much time had passed.' He refused to answer her verbally, but Gillian had a way of seeing right through to the heart of a matter. He chewed over several replies, before he finally said, firmly,

'This isn't a discussion. What you all 'r gonna do, now, is go through these files,' his hand swept, indicating the clutter, 'an' find which people are common 't each incident. Brass, as well as field operatives. Also, look for inconsistencies between reports, 'y know, stuff that isn't right. You 'v all done this kinda thing, b 'fore. There 'r more files on the computer. See Loker for which files you're 't work on.' Loker straightened, visibly pleased to be in charge. Torres was visibly not pleased, but, of course, Cal didn't care.

'Somethin' else,' Cal began, hesitated, then let the shame show through on his face. ' 'Y 're gonna see some things, in there, that you aren't gonna like. I mean, 'bout me, 'n 'M sorry 'bout that. That's part of why I hafta do this, 'k?' He let that comment sink in with everyone a few seconds before he picked back up where he left off.

'When you've gotten a list, even one or two possibilities, I want Foster to review it. 'Y know, usin' yer 'psycho' indicators. See if they 'v the potential 't be a traitor. There should be psych files on all the main players.' Gillian made a not so pleasant face at him, which he ignored. Loker looked content, and resolved, which was good enough for Cal. He surveyed Torres, made note of her unconcealed rebellion, and said, pointedly,

'Look, if 'y don' wanna do this, 'y can go find another job.' Torres straightened, took control of her features, shook her head in compliance.

'Where did you get all this?' Gillian wondered, aloud. Cal shot her a look, and she continued, a frustrated voice, 'Because I'm wondering which Agency is going to be showing up on the doorstep today.'

'Oh, no worries. Collin was kind e'nuff to share. What, I did 'n mention we had a lit' l chat last night, him, 'n me, 'n Loker, over 't my place?' Gillian narrowed her eyes at Cal, then Loker, who pretended not to notice. Cal fanned the fire under her anger.

' 'Y oughtta try co-operatin' wi' people, Gill. Amazin' what the simple truth gets ya.' Gillian was at a full boil, now, which was exactly

what Cal wanted; keep her mad enough to stay out of the personal side of this.

'Well, there's a lotta work, here. Get at it,' he suggested, moved out of the room toward his desk. He paused at the doorway, turned back, warned,

' 'Y do NOT have permission 't see anything' on my desk, right? 'Y need 't see me, I'll come in here.' Gillian made as if to follow him, but he stopped her with a warning gesture, a shake of his head.

' Not now, luv,' he said, and despite his harsh body language, his words and tone were kind. Gillian hesitated, took a real look at him. He was haggard, rumpled, and exhausted. Suddenly concerned, she tried to lay a comforting hand on his arm, but he pulled away, gently, firmly, still shaking his head. He didn't want sympathy, he never did. His smile was the only apology she was going to get, and she knew it. She softened, returned the smile, and let him go.

Torres and Loker jerked their attention back to what they were doing as Gillian came back into the room, breathing a deep sigh. They exchanged looks, and turned to the task at hand. While all of them questioned the sanity of this project, all of them also knew they would do whatever Cal asked.

Gillian looked up as Torres leaned into her office doorway.

"I'm a zombie,' Ria said, and Gilliann looked at the clock,

wondering where the hours had gone. It was past midnight.

' I'm outta here.'

'Where's Loker?'

'Passed out on the chair in front of his monitor,' Torres said, with a shake of her head.

'Cal?' Torres made a 'like I care' face, said,

'Not sure. I didn't see him.' Gillian nodded, said, 'Goodnight, Ria,' and Torres waved back over her shoulder as she left. Gillain stood, went to gather a blanket from the back of her couch before she went down the hall to look for her boys.

She found Loker where Torres had said she would, snoring softly in the overstuffed chair. His screensaver was on, so Gillian shut the monitor off, and carefully laid the blanket across him, turned off all the lights except a lamp on the table. She glanced at Loker's sleeping face, and gave a gentle, maternal smile before moving off to look for Cal.

She spotted him, slouched into the couch in his darkened main office. She moved quietly, assuming he was asleep, but he said,

'Mother hen, eh?' and startled her. 'Sorry, luv,' he apologized, sat up a bit. She smiled, forgiveness, and came in to sit on a chair which was close, so she could be with him without making him feel as if she was invading his privacy. She couldn't see his face, so she flicked on the lamp which sat on the end table between them. When the light came on, she almost wished she had left it off. She'd never

seen him look so lost. She couldn't keep the sympathy off her face, didn't even try.

'What's wrong, Cal?' Gillian asked, softly, head tilted slightly to the side, compassion in her voice. Cal looked at her, numbly, asked,

'Have you ever sleepwalked, Gillian?' She looked at him, confused, shook her head, and said,

'No.' Her lips made a delicious, plump moue when she said it, which almost always made Cal want to grab her and kiss her. Right now, though, he felt so dead inside it didn't register.

'Statistically, males are more prone to that,' she told him, and he nodded, agreed,

'Yeah, I know.' He studied his hands, searching for the words to explain how he felt, what he meant.

'I used to sleepwalk when I was a kid. I mean, a lot. Once, I climbed out our second story bedroom window, onto the porch roof, and walked right off.' Gillian winced at the image. He held onto his silence a long time, and Gillian saw the battle on his face. She was patient, knowing he would work it out, eventually, and tell her what he needed to.

''S really a totally bonkers feelin', y'know,' he said, still not

meeting her eyes, 'Sleepwalkin'. On some level, you realize what you're doin', but not really. When you wake up, it's hard to tell what's really happened, or happening, from what you thought was goin' on.' He stopped, looked at her, face crumpled with confusion.

'Am I makin' any sense, at all?' he wondered, aloud, and she nodded, confirmed,

'Yes.' He blinked several times, before continuing.

'That's what I feel like, right now,' he told her, and his face was full of remembered pain. 'A sleepwalker. I can't tell where what really happened leaves off, and what I think happened, begins.' His brow furrowed, extreme grief, and Gillian could see his struggle to keep back tears. Her heart ached; she could almost reach out and touch his suffering. He had never been a man to share such things. So stubbornly English. The very fact he was doing so now frightened her. These types of depressed feelings were dangerous.

'I WANT to be asleep,' he told her, truthfully.

'So you can wake up, and make it right.' He nodded, blinked hard, and smiled; the same smile she'd seen on the face of his Mother in the old film, right before she'd gone home and killed herself. It terrified her, but she kept that from him.

'But, I know I'm not. I can't change ANY of it.'

'You think you can change something, though, Cal, don't

you? Or else you wouldn't be doing this.' He met her eyes, sharply, and regained control of his features. Annoyed, he reminded her,

'I hate it when you use that psycho-babble on me, y'know?'

She allowed herself to laugh, and nodded.

'I know.' Growing serious, told him, firmly,

'Let it go, Cal.' He looked at her as if she were crazy. Sat up straighter, and she saw he was holding a photograph. He hesitated a few seconds, then shoved it toward her. She took it, pulled it into the light so she could see it.

'That's Rich Murphy, there,' he pointed, ' an' me, an' Glynn Wright.' His voice wavered, slightly, when he said her name, but Gillian decided not to comment on that, just yet. Instead, she looked the picture over closely. The three of them were sitting around a table at what looked like an Inn, playing cards, laughter on their faces. They were mirroring each others' body language and expressions, the sign of good friends. She squinted, pointed,

'Who is this, behind you?' Cal leaned in, glanced, said,

'Ah, that's Hamish O'Rourke. He was posin' as my cousin. He's the one who brought me into the operation.'

'Hmmmm,' she nodded, recognizing him from the file photos.

'He's the only other one of your team who survived, right?' Cal nodded. Touched the photo, again, a finger on each one, another sign of how fond he's been of the two, said quietly,

'If these people hadn't come back for me, I'd 'a been a dead man.' Gillian handed the photo back to him, and he held it tightly.

He sighed, looked straight into her eyes, and she could tell he desperately needed her to understand.

'There 'r things you try 't hide from, your whole life. Sometimes, 'y can. Other things, 'y just have to pull out 'n face…so 'y can move on, in peace.' He held the picture up, told her,

'I pulled this out. I have to finish it. I owe it to Glynn, and Murphy, 't find the truth. I just wasn't ready to face it, 'till now. Can you understand that, Gill?'

Gillian searched his face, several seconds, her brow wrinkled with thought, then shook her head 'yes'. He sat back, relieved, and she stood.

'Go home, Cal, get some sleep, OK?' she pleaded, gently.

'I will,' he said, but she knew he wouldn't. She smiled, that long-suffering maternal smile, snapped the light off, and left.


	7. Chapter 6

Hey to all! Sorry for the delay on this Chapter; Life interferes, eh? This is my first fanfic, and I hope you are enjoying it. PLEASE review, it means a lot to me. Excitement ahead, mysteries discovered and solved…stay tuned!

Chapter Six

'The Bloody Hand' was exceptionally loud that evening; when Richard Murphy made his way into the Inn, he was pleasantly surprised to see Cal among the lads at the table in the large back room, which was reserved almost exclusively for the use of Sean and his 'group'. Their noise spilled out into the Common room, and it was clear that the entire town had been holding it's breath, waiting for Sean to approve of Cal. Smiling, Murphy waded through the crowd, grabbing a mug of Stout as he passed the bar, to end up on the edge of the room where Sean, Seamus, Hamish and the rest were toasting Cal's successful initiation. Sean spotted his arrival, and called, loudly,

'Aye, Murphy! Raise yer glass to Cal, tonight! He's proven he's got the stones 't be wi' us!'

Murphy made his way to sit alongside Cal, laughing,

'I heard 'y made the grade, Cal.' Cal smiled, nodded, but he was the only one who knew it wasn't real, or, was he? He met Glynn's eye, across the table, read her face carefully, and his smile faded a bit…had she realized it was fake? He covered his stare with a long draught of the bitter brew, and when he looked back up, she was

engaged in conversation with Hamish. After all, he was trying to spot a traitor, and any gender could wear that coat.

'I go off for a few days, 'n see what happens,' Murphy said, jokingly, then leaned close, said, so only Cal could hear,

' 'M glad you're all right, Marsters.'

'Me, too,' Cal agreed, heartily, and the look he shot at Sean's back was anything but pleasant. It lasted only a second, but it wasn't lost on Murphy, who frowned.

Sean suddenly grew serious, called out,

'Close the doors, lads..we've some business 't discuss.' The men in the room quieted down, as two of the fellows complied. Sean sat his mug down, and he had the full attention of everyone in the room. Cal could feel the tension in the air, excitement, awaiting Sean's words.

He spoke in a low tone, which wouldn't carry outside the room.

' Ye all know, we been lookin' for out next chance 't strike a blow for freedom,' and murmurs of assent rippled through the group.

'I sent Murphy on a scoutin' trip, 'n he's come back with some good news.' Sean gave a nod to Murphy, who stood.

'Things are looking favorable for us to move ahead with our planned action, on Guy Fawkes' day. Now, we'll need to get some more information, but I think we can safely say, as of right now, that we'll be a go.' Everyone in the room nodded, smiled, and the buzz that

met Cal's ears was all positive. Cal straightened, realized Murphy was talking about plans for a violent protest. Murphy sat down, relinquished the floor to Sean.

'Remember, lads, 't keep th' chatter down, outside this room, even 'mongst yerselves. We got the tours startin' back up, next week, so mind yerselves. I'll be callin' a meetin' soon, 't fill ye in on the details. Fer now, keep th' fire burnin', 'n we'll see our freedom. Now, off 'y all go, 'n close the doors behind' he said, dismissing the majority, 'Seamus, Hamish, Rich, Glynn,….and Cal,…you stay.' Almost everyone in the group hesitated, threw surprised looks Cal's way, though some were obviously jealous. Cal noted Paderick, especially, was openly hostile. Sean glared at the rebellious ones, who gave way to his authority. Clearly, it was considered a privilege to be singled out to stay behind. As the room cleared, the chosen few moved into adjacent chairs, awaiting Sean's attention. Sean pulled out a chair, sat, and everyone leaned in closer.

'We'll be needin' 't make a trip 't Belfast, first 'o the week,' he said, quietly, 'An' 'm thinking Cal will come along. He should be meetin' Liam.'

'Why not, eh? He should know everyone,' Hamish agreed, quietly, nodded. He looked at Cal, said, by way of explanation,

'We get our 'fireworks' from Liam.' He meant their illegal

explosives, and armaments. Cal already knew that from his prep work, but had to pretend it was news to him to keep his cover tight. Hamish knew that, too; he was a good operative, using opportunities as they arose to strengthen Cal's story.

'Glynn will need to be on the street, as always..Murphy'l get ye the locations.' Cal, confused about that meant, said,

'What d' ya mean, 'on the street'?'

'I set up and sketch, with the pretense of selling art and portraits to tourists,' Glynn clarified, 'when really, I'm getting an eye on the traffic and pedestrian flow, where troops are deployed to 'keep the peace'.' She let just enough disdain creep into her voice to please Sean's ear, then turned to Sean, reminded,

'I need a cameraman.' Cal held his breath, just a bit; he recalled in his pre-mission briefing that their last 'cameraman', Joseph O'Connor, an undercover operative, had been missing, presumed dead, for several months. Sold out, by the traitor. Cal Marsters wouldn't know that, but Cal Lightman did.

'How 'bout Cal?' Murphy suggested, startling Cal. 'He's the only man without a job. He's a new face, more likely to draw the attention of Glynn's 'babysitters'. Might free her up, a bit.' Glynn laughed, told Cal,

'I've got a couple uniforms that watch me pretty closely, though I'm not sure it's because they suspect me of being anything, other

than their next date.'

'Can y' run a camera, Marsters?' Sean wondered, and his gaze was keen. He always seemed to be looking for some trace of deception or weakness in everyone he met. He was a hard man to get a clear read on. ' We need shots of the street, buildings, post drop boxes, the enemy, y' get the idea?' Cal leaned back into his chair, said confidently,

' Thirty-five MM film, eh? Telephoto an' zoom lenses? Tripod? Manual F-stop?' Sean chuckled, appeared impressed, and Cal smiled, but his eyes didn't mirror the sentiment.

' Right, then, Marsters. Glynn can fill ye in on what we need.'

'That can wait 'till tomorrow,' Glynn said, standing,' I owe Cal a beer..'

'Two, actually,' Cal reminded her, straightening, and she smiled, continued,

'And, a few hands of cards. You boys up for a game?' Sean and Seamus shook their heads 'no', but Murphy and Hamish both agreed,

'Aye, we're in.'

'Ah, I'm done in,' Murphy groaned, and stood up from the table, stretched. Hamish had long since gone home to Tess and his boys, leaving just the three of them to battle it out with cards. Glynn smiled, laughed, and said,

' Come back tomorrow night. Maybe your luck 'l be better.'

'Ha!' Murphy laughed, and narrowed his eyes at Glynn in mock anger,' I should'a remembered NOT to play cards with this woman.' He pointed at her, curled his features into fake anger, then drained the last of his brew. Cal studied his face, trying to see the truth of his friendship with Glynn. Was he the good mate he appeared, or was he cleverly disguising his true agenda? Murphy slammed his mug down, and shook his head to clear it, gave Glynn a fond smile; brotherly, not intimate. She returned it in the same vein; camaraderie. Interesting.

He'd reached several conclusions about Murphy over cards, that evening; that he was about as open and honest as an undercover Op could be, had a clever wit and sharp sense of humor, and he was very well-informed. About local news, as well as what was going on in the

outside world. It was easy to see why his job for Sean was to gather intel. His cover was Overseer at one of the local sheep farms, and, it seemed that he really enjoyed the job. He bantered easily with Cal, and they got on well.

The Inn was nearly empty, and Cal looked at his watch, blinked to make his eyes focus. One AM. No wonder he felt beat. Well, that, and the beer. Murphy gave them a parting smile, and wave, said,

' 'Night, all,' and made his way a bit unsteadily out the front door. Glynn gathered the cards, tapped the deck together on the tabletop, and boxed them.

'I guess I need 't come back tomorrow night, 'n try to recover MY losses,' Cal complained, and Glynn poked him with her elbow, gave him a 'yeah, right' look.

'I think you broke even, Marsters,' she chided, pointed at the money piled in front of him. She laid the deck down, braced her elbows and forearms on the table, and sighed, stared across the room at the fire, low on the hearth. Cal, slouched back in his chair, laid his chin to

his palm, and studied her face. She wore a slight smile on perfect lips, her features relaxed, warmed by firelight. She had a pert little nose, a strong jaw line, and nicely defined cheekbones. She wore her hair, as always, pinned up, away from her face. He decided that, while she may not be called a stunner, she certainly was worth a second look, and, he was looking. She didn't seem to notice, lost in personal reverie. Without expecting to, he said aloud,

'Where d' you go off to, 'most every day? I mean, y' drive out through town, 'n you never come back 'till afternoon, or later. What else is there to do, 'round here?' Glynn blinked, met his gaze, surprised that he'd noticed her comings and goings.

'Out, around the countryside, to draw, paint. There's a lot of beauty, here. Old houses, ruins, cemeteries, interesting people. History.'

'What d' y' do with all your works?' Glynn shrugged, traced her fingers on the tabletop, a strange sadness on her face.

'Some, I sell, some, I keep.' She wanted to say more, he could

see the words poised on her lips, but she kept whatever it was to herself. After a few more moments of contemplative silence, Cal asked,

'Can I come w' you, t 'morrow?' She sat up straighter, met his eye, confused and surprised.

'Why? I mean, I don't care, but it will be pretty boring, watching me paint all day. I have a piece I need to finish, before we go to Belfast, and I don't talk when I'm working. I'm not going stop just to bring you back. We're running out of good weather.'

'Well, it's still gotta be a sight more interesting' than sittin' around town, watchin' the dust settle, eh? Look at it this way; I'll bring the camera, and while you draw, I'll practice. You kin let me know what kinda shots we'll be needin' in Belfast, on the drive, or over lunch. C'mon. One day.' He could see she wasn't exactly certain what to think about the suggestion. After a few seconds, though, she nodded slowly, agreed, as she stood,

' Allright.'

'Great,' Cal replied, 'see y' in the morning', then. Not too early

though, eh?' with a pained look at his watch.

'Not too,' she smiled, and as she picked up the cards, suggested,

'Pack a lunch. There aren't any drive-thru's out there. And, wear a hat, else you'll be sunburned.'

Cal was just finishing the last of his breakfast tea when Glynn's Jeep rolled up outside the Inn's window. Quickly, he got to his feet, sucking down the last swallows, before he grabbed the camera bag and a duffle, slapped a hat on, and headed out the door before she had to honk the horn.

He stepped up to the open Jeep window, met her gaze, but was unable to see her eyes past her sunglasses. He'd rushed out here to tell her something, and now he found he wasn't in any hurry to say it. He dropped his gaze to the ground, shuffled his feet, said, uncomfortably,

'Look, 'm sorry if I was pushin ya 't take me along. I really don'

have to go, if y' don' want.' He looked back up, but her expression, as much as he could see, didn't waver.

'Think about that all night, did you?' she asked, tone flat and non-committal. He nodded, made a miserable face, admitted,

'Aye.' She stared, expressionless, several seconds, just to make him worry.

'Shut up, 'n get in, Marsters,' she said, and couldn't hide the tiny smile which quirked the corners of her lips. He smiled, a huge, genuine grin, and hustled around to the passenger door, leaned in to stash his gear. The back seat was piled with her supplies; an easel, paint box, canvas, folding chairs, and other assorted items. Cal managed to tuck his stuff in without trouble, then jumped in to the passenger seat, and gave her another grin, and a thumbs-up. She shook her head, laughed, put the Jeep in gear, and piloted them out of town.

'Wake up, Marsters,' said a female voice, invading his slumber, and something tapped his foot. He dragged his eyes open, squinted in

the bright red-orange light of sunset. Looked up at Glynn, who grinned.

'Unless you WANT to sleep there, all night. I'm afraid it could be a bit cold, though.' Blinking himself awake, Cal sat up with a small groan. The ground had felt softer when he'd first laid down, however long ago. He climbed to his feet, tried to stretch the kinks out of his back as Glynn loaded the last of her gear into the Jeep. He'd spent a good part of the day climbing about the ruins that Glynn was painting, getting what he thought would be interesting and helpful shots, and he was bloody well knackered. In between forays, he'd paused to watch Glynn at her work. She'd never seemed to notice him, so absorbed was she in her endeavors. Once, he's gotten so fascinated, that he stood by over an hour without moving away.

'Get some good shots?' she asked, over her shoulder, and he nodded,

'Hope so. Used up all the film, anyways. Got a developer in town?'

'Sure do. One-hour developing, but they'll be closed by time we get back. Drop 'em in the morning, and we'll have them to show to

Sean, tomorrow night. I'm sure we'll be meeting to discuss the trip to Belfast, on Monday.' Cal nodded, tucked his gear away as Glynn climbed in, fired up the Jeep.

'I 'm famished! 'N a beer sounds right good, 'bout now.' Cal decided, aloud, as he settled in to his seat, and Glynn laughed,

'Fresh air'll do that to you.'

'Well, t' night I'm buyin', right?' Cal offered, 'as thanks, fer bringin' me along, an' all.'

'Whoo-wee, I'm in,' Glynn chortled, then her face grew suspicious, and she gave him the eye.

'You planning on cards, again?' Cal pulled a mock astonished expression, defended,

'Ay! You accusing' me o' somethin'?'

' Of course!'

'Well, then, you better get us back b' fore we freeze 't death, so's you kin see if you're right, or not,' Cal deflected, with a shiver, noticing he could see his breath in the air, as the sun slipped further below the horizon.

The next morning, Cal waited exactly sixty-one minutes before he went back in to the Photo Stop for his pictures. The clerk didn't seem to notice his haste, just took his money, and handed over the prints, and twelve fresh rolls of film. Cal stuffed the envelopes into his pocket, and headed back to the privacy of his room to look at them.

He sifted through them quickly, rather pleased with how they'd turned out. Most were exactly what he'd been trying to capture, but he kept going through them until he found the ones he especially wanted. The ones he didn't want anyone else to see.

Glynn. At her easel, painting, an expression of sublime peace on her face. The sunlight gilded her like some ancient Goddess, her hair fiery red. He was fairly confident that she hadn't noticed him shooting her, so absorbed in her work that it was as if time, for her, had ceased to exist. The telephoto lens they'd given him was high quality, so he'd been able to snap away from quite some distance. One in particular he sorted out, pulled it close to see the details. She was in profile, focused

on the scene beyond her easel, hand poised just above the canvas, brush preparing to touch. Her eyes were sharp, bright, and eager, devouring details of her chosen subject; colors, shapes, shadow, light. A soft smile touched her lips, her cheeks blushed from the gentle touch of the afternoon breeze. He smiled, looking at it, then leaned over and tucked it into the corner of the mirror above his dresser. Then he added another, one he'd teased her into allowing him to take; she was laughing, threatening him with her brush.

'Hey, Marsters! You up?' her voice called from downstairs, breaking his reverie.

'Ay! I'll be right down!' he yelled, out his open door, quickly pulled out all the shots he had of her, stacked them, stashed them in a drawer to enjoy later. Gathered the rest, shoved them back into their envelopes, and headed downstairs.

She met him at the foot of the stairs, gave him a curious look as he stopped in front of her.

'Already been to the Photo shop?' she noticed, surprised, looking at the envelopes in his hand.

'Oh, yeah,..here ya go,' he said, offered them to her, then followed to sit beside her at one of the tables. He didn't bother to look at the pictures as she went through them, but, instead, leaned chin on hand, and studied her reactions to what she saw. She went through them slowly, savoring the feel of each one, and several caused her to give him a surprised look, but she never spoke. After the third or fourth time she did that, he couldn't stand it, and asked,

'What? 'S that terrible? Am I fired?' She gave a short, small laugh, shook her head,

'Ah, no,' changed to a nod, 'Actually, these are really, really good. You have the eye of an artist.' He grinned at the compliment, offered,

'I was a bit of a shutterbug, in school. I was just hopin' to get

some shots, 'y know, of stuff you might want to paint when the weather gets too bad t' be out.' She nodded her head, eyebrows raised, still taken aback by his work, and his thoughtfulness. Smiling, she admitted,

'Well, some of these are amazing. Thanks for thinking of me.'

'Ah, so you'll keep me around, then?' he prompted, a joking tone, a smile, but hung his hopes on her reply. She met his gaze and held it, and he saw she knew exactly what he meant. She leaned in toward him, said, deliberately,

'I'm thinking I just might.' She laid the photos down, said briskly,

'Where's the rest?' Startled, he managed,

'What d' y' mean, 'the rest'?' Her eyes crinkled, keen against his, as she smiled, and he feigned innocence.

'All the ones you took of me,' she informed him, and for once he couldn't find a word to defend himself. She shook a finger at him,

gently, her manner playful,

'Oh, what, didn't think I'd notice, eh?' Chastened, he admitted,

'Hoped y' wouldn't, more like.' Then he pouted, but not seriously.

'Busted,' she said, laughing, bumped his arm with hers, and kept it there.

All these years later, Cal still remembered that touch.


	8. Chapter 7

Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing this! I am really enjoying the journey, and hope to travel many more roads with Cal, the gang, and all of you! More excitement to come….

Chapter Seven

Even though Hamish's driving hadn't improved any, at least the road itself had. Cal consoled himself with that small favor as they suffered yet another side-sliding jolt, which sent him, elbow-first, into Glynn. She winced, he made an apologetic face, to which she shrugged, knowing quite well that it was not Cal's doing. They were sharing the back seat of Hamish's Land Rover, which was wending it's way toward Belfast. They had been voted into the back by Rich Murphy and Hamish; Hamish owned the car, and Rich was considerably taller than Cal, so his best fit was the front. The trip had started well before dawn, a fact he totally despised, NOT being a morning person. Neither was Glynn, apparently, as she'd been balled up on her corner of the seat, wrapped in a blanket and clutching a travel mug of hot tea when he'd crawled in. He was fine with her silence, as he didn't feel much like conversation at such an ungodly hour, either. 

Hamish and Rich clearly felt otherwise, and carried on a non-stop commentary on every imaginable subject under the sun as they rode along. Although all four of them were on the same covert team, it was a serious breech of security protocols to discuss that, even when they were all alone, together; so they carefully respected the rule. There would be an appropriate time and location for them to confer, and it wasn't here, or now.

Glynn had crammed the far rear of the vehicle with boxes of finished canvases and sketches, destined for sale in town; in addition to being her livelihood, their sale was an excuse for coming into Belfast. Cal's camera equipment nestled next to Glynn's street set-up gear, and, as he dozed off and on, he mentally reviewed exactly what needed to be done while they were in town; essential shots, detailed information on the movements of law enforcement and the flow of pedestrian traffic on specific streets, et cetera.

Sean and Seamus were traveling in a separate vehicle, and entering town from a different direction, a measure intended to deflect any undue interest in their comings and goings. 

The sun was up as they made their way into Belfast, and passed through the identity check, pointed questioning, and security search conducted by sharp-eyed guards at the main roadblock. All four were cleared in, and Cal breathed a bit easier once they were past the armed barricade. The other three were accustomed to it, but, for Cal, it was new and rather nerve-racking. Glynn apparently noticed his discomfort, and leaned close to say, quietly,

'It gets easier, once you've gone through a few dozen times,' then winked, and gave a small smile.

'Oh, ay, 'M sure,' Cal muttered, but returned the smile.

Hamish made his way with familiar ease through the narrow streets, past roughly-used, graffiti marked buildings, to a nicer area, and parked in front of a well cared for storefront. It's glass window 

read; 'The Emerald Gallery'. As they got out, Cal scanned the artwork showcased behind that glass; beautiful works from varied local artists, tempting tourists to come in and part with their valuable souvenir money. He paused, took a closer look at one, and was pleased to realize he had recognized the work as Glynns'.

'Hey, give a hand, unloadin', ' Hamish's voice broke in, and, as Cal turned, handed him a box, indicated he follow Murphy into the Gallery.

A small bell chimed, marking their entry, and Cal followed Murphy toward the long counter in back. Glynn was already chatting and laughing with the tall man behind the counter: Liam O' Dweyer. He had long, ash-brown hair, and the features of a fighter; a bold nose that had been broken many times, low, strong brow, and razor-sharp blue eyes, deep-set above strong cheekbones. His narrow-lipped mouth smiled, but it was a guarded smile, barely touching his eyes. His voice was deep, and carried easily. Cal stepped up next to Glynn, set his box down, and looked past Liam. He spotted Sean and Seamus, standing at the far end of the counter, behind a large painting placed on an easel, carefully keeping out of sight of the front windows. They were closely watching Liam; Cal had no idea why. All at once, Liam caught sight of Cal, and turned toward him, a surprised, pleased look on his face. 

'Cal Marsters!' he boomed, extending his hand to grasp Cal's firmly, giving a rough shake, and a wink, ' What 'r ye doin', way out here? London get too warm fer ya?' 

'Y might say that,' Cal smiled, eyes narrowed, as he returned the handshake, quickly scanning the expressions of his mates: Glynn and Murphy seemed genuinely surprised, which they should, as they hadn't been told that Cal would be given a back history with Liam. Sean and Seamus' mouths dropped open, eyebrows high, and they exchanged looks of surprise as they moved closer. Liam glanced their way, leaned over the counter, lowered his voice to say, confidentially,

'Marsters, here, was part of master mindin' the bombin' of the London Underground, this past spring.' Hamish walked up in time to hear the last remark, and gave Cal a covert glance, which Cal couldn't read. Sean wore an entirely new level of respect on his face as he stepped close, met Cal's eye. 

''Y ne' er mentioned that, Marsters,' he said, a hint of awe in his tone, and Cal replied, sharply,

' 'Y never bothered 't ask, did ya?' Sean's smile faded slightly, he moved, almost imperceptibly, away, and his expression hardened.

Liam smiled, grimly, added,

'You stick with Cal, here, 'n you'll get some respect from the Commanders.' Sean and Seamus were both nodding, agreement. They obviously held Liam's opinions in high regard. After a few seconds of silence, Liam turned the conversation onto a new track. He turned away from the men, said,

'Let's see what ye have for me, Glynn,' and began pulling boxes closer, and riffling through what was inside. He said to Sean, without 

looking up, 

'You boys kin come back, in a bit. I've not quite sorted out your 'order'.'

Hamish snorted, said,

'I've other things 't see to, m' self. I'll be back at the usual time,' and exited the Gallery. He fired up his Rover, and was gone. Sean and Seamus each gave Liam a nod of acknowledgement, a subdued glance of grudging respect to Cal, and left, splitting up outside the door to go in opposite directions. Murphy slapped Cal on the shoulder, said,

'What you say to breakfast, eh? Glynn 'll be here awhile, sortin' this out. We'll be back in plenty of time for ye to get out 'n get your camera work in.'

It was just after dark when Hamish pulled away from Belfast. Both he and Murphy were considerably quieter than they had been that morning, and seemed happy to keep it that way. Murphy was actually dozing, snoring occasionally. It had been a very long day for all of them, and it would be quite a drive before they saw home.

Cal pulled his coat tight, wishing he could sleep so easily, and shivered; the Rover didn't appear to be equipped with heat. If that was true, it was definitely going to be a long ride. Moonlight streamed in 

through the grimy windows, giving enough illumination for him to see surprisingly well. He glanced over at Glynn, who looked miserably cold, and realized she was missing her coat, and blanket.

'Damn, Hamish,' she complained, scrubbing her hands together, 'when are you gonna get that window replaced?' Cal glanced up, noticed that the taped up sheet of plastic that had been intended to keep the draft off the back seat passengers had gotten torn, and Glynn, sitting directly behind Murphy, was getting a full-on blast of the brisk Fall air. Hamish growled, 

' It's ordered, just takin' their sweet time o'er sendin' it. Where's yer coat?' Glynn shivered, said,

'At Liam's, I think. 'Twas so warm this afternoon, I forgot to pack it up.' 

'Look b' hind the seat … there might be a blanket,' Hamish directed, irritably. Cal shifted, quickly, said,

' Lemme look,' leaned over, and rummaged around until he felt something that he hoped was said blanket. Hamish was flipping a switch and pounding on the dash, muttering curses under his breath at the uncooperative heater. Cal settled back into the seat with a triumphant grin, and flipped the blanket open, just as Hamish beat the reluctant heater into working. It rattled loudly, and coughed out a slightly warm breeze, barely enough to feel in the back, but better than nothing. Cal looked Glynn's direction, opened the blanket toward 

her, an offer to wrap it around her shoulders.

'Here ya go, Darlin',' he said, gently, extending it so she could take it from him. Quickly, before he could react, she slid over, into his welcoming embrace, and wrapped both the blanket and his arms tightly around her. He was so startled, he couldn't think of a thing to say. She met his astonished gaze, smiled, gave a shiver, and nestled closer with a small, contented sigh, head tucked beneath his chin. There really wasn't anything else for him to do but relax back into the seat, and enjoy the feel of her, against his chest. Her scent, lavender and roses, teased his nose, along with the rest of him, fully awake. He smiled, more than pleased with this unexpected development.

'What are ye doin'?' he said, softly, into her ear, which was close to his lips. He kept it low, so as not to draw any attention.

'Getting warm,' she replied, matter-of-factly, in the same soft tone, as if it should've been obvious. Cal glanced at Hamish, whose face he could just barely glimpse in the rearview. He was intent on driving, and grumbling at the recalcitrant heater. Cal decided that it was too dark to see much of anything inside the Rover, unless you were very close. Especially not him and Glynn, nestled in the black shadows. Very close.

Suddenly, she stiffened, sat straight up, met his gaze, and he saw chagrin on her face. If it'd been lighter, he'd probably be able to see she was blushing.

' I'm sorry, I'll move over..' she apologized, beginning to move away from his embrace, afraid she'd crossed the line, pushed herself into his space against his wishes. Cal held on tight, made it clear that was not true, and not about to let her go so easily.

' 'S all right,' he assured, 'we can both be warmer this way, eh?' She stopped, looked directly into his eyes, searching for something only she knew. So beautiful, with her hair coming loose from it's pins, eyes intense and focused on his. He held his breath, just a bit, hoping she could find whatever it was she wanted in his gaze. After a moment, she relented with a tiny smile, settled back in, shuffling so the blanket was high up over her shoulders, and laid her head back over his heart. Cal rested his arms around her, acutely aware of how perfectly she seemed to fit there. For now, that was enough.

The following day evolved into a dervish of activity for the town; Autumn tours were beginning, end of the week, and would continue on through early November. It meant big revenue for the entire town, and everyone, from business owners to residents, were putting an extra polish on the already tidy village. Cal was caught in the Inn's private room with Sean and the entire planning crew; Seamus, Murphy, Hamish, and Glynn, poring over his photographs and Glynn's observations from the day before, making detailed notes, polishing ideas, deciding what else they needed in the form of Recon to 

complete the planned strike successfully. 

It was mildly annoying, as he's hoped to convince Glynn to take him back out into the countryside on one of her sketching forays. Instead, they discussed the gruesome details of the mayhem they planned to inflict on November 5th.

He'd woken her before they arrived back in town, late last night, so she could move back across the seat, thereby avoiding any unnecessary, and unwanted, curiosity. After all, as far as he knew, she really WAS just using him to get warm. If that was true, no sense in creating an issue where there was none.

It was just damn frustrating, wondering.

Afternoon faded on toward evening, and finally Sean called it a day, much to everyone's relief. Hamish grumbled about getting home to supper, Murphy lamented leaving his herdsman alone all day, and Seamus commented loudly that he was starving to death. As they all filed from the room, Glynn slipped up beside him, urgency on her face.

'How fast can you get your camera gear ready? I mean, all of it…tripod, remote trip, low-light lenses, everything?' Caught by surprise at her query, Cal replied,

'Ah, five minutes. Why?' She nodded, briskly, said,

'Can you meet me out front, ASAP? I have something I want you to photograph for me, and it has to be tonight.' 

'Um, sure, OK,' he agreed, his features twisted into a confused scowl, as he watched her hurry from the room.

He tossed on a coat, was out front in less than five, and her Jeep 

rolled up, raising a cloud of dust. He deposited both bags into the back seat, and climbed in.

As she drove, he studied her face, attempting to decipher her mood. She was silent, intent, focused on whatever her mission was, so he simply respected that, and waited. She headed west, across the lowlands, aiming toward a distant hilltop. Glancing that way, Cal realized they were headed straight toward the sunset, and it was glorious. The sky was melting into hundreds of hues and tones, reds, oranges, and yellows, a stunning panorama showcasing the sinking sun. Directly overhead, the sky was painted in clear blues, darkening to sapphire as night crept close. He blinked, realizing he'd never actually bothered to look at a sunset before, and wondered why.

She rolled to a stop at the hill's crest, and Cal jumped out, camera and tripod already in hand. He set up quickly, lined up his shots, and began snapping as fast as the camera could handle. Glynn simply leaned back against the hood of her jeep, and watched, eyes narrowed against the intensity of the light. Apparently she was confident in his skills, because she kept quiet, and let him pick his own shots. Cal worked fast, attempting to gather as many shots as possible before the sun melted below the horizon. It went down so quickly, he thought, hoping we was capturing whatever feel she wanted.

In minutes, it was gone, and Cal straightened, took a deep breath, staring at the horizon, sighed,

'Amazin'. Glynn chuckled, left her post at the Jeep's hood, and stepped up beside him.

' I'm glad we were able to get here in time…those shots will be great for a painting I have in mind. But, now, turn around, and see what I really want you to shoot, tonight.'

Cal turned, and his eyes didn't even need to follow the direction her finger was pointing to see it.

A full moon, freshly risen, on the opposite skyline, sanguine-hued, stained by the bloody-red sunset. The perfect beauty of it froze him, held him entranced for several seconds. He realized he needed to get busy, or he'd miss the shots; and for the better part of an hour he fussed with lenses, set-ups, film speed, and remote trip tripod shots.

Finally, he was finished; he was out of film, the moon now hung well overhead, and the color had cleared to brilliant silver-white.

'Thanks,' Glynn said, close behind him, and he nearly jumped. He'd been so focused on his project he'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone.

' Don' thank me, yet,' he smiled, packing everything away, 'you haven't seen how they'll turn out.' 

'I'm not worried,' she assured him. 'You're developing quite the artists' eye. The film will never accurately capture what you see, anyways. You can't 'touch' those colors, anywhere except in your heart. If I can make them come out of my brush somewhat close, I'll be thrilled.' A bit confused by what she meant, Cal pondered her words as he put the camera gear back into the Jeep, assuming they were finished here, and would be heading directly back. When he looked around for Glynn, he saw she had moved to a higher spot, and taken a seat on the grassy hillside. Intrigued, he went over to join her, wondering what was up. The night was warmer than the last few had been, and it comfortably warm with just a coat. He found a seat close alongside, and, ignoring everything else, focused on reading her.

Glynn sat, knees up, tight against her chest, arms wrapped around them, looking out across the rolling hills, at the moon. Her body language was defensive, protecting herself, her heart. A slight breeze toyed with loose strands of hair, trailed them across her face. Damn, why did she always have her hair pinned up? Cal wondered. In the silver-blue moonlight, she was a porcelain profile, subtle smile tilting lips, and a glint of the moon sparkled in her eyes. The breeze carried the aroma of fall, drying grass, crisping leaves. If he leaned just a bit closer toward her, he could catch a whiff of lavender and roses. Other than her posture, she seemed completely unaware of him, as if she was alone in the argent-indigo dark. 

'Listen to the night, Cal,' she whispered, breathed, 'Just listen.'

Cal had spent most of his life in the bustle and noise of the city, and once he really opened his ears to the silence, he realized just how much there was to hear. The gentle shuffle of the breeze thru the grass, a distant rustle of leaves. Far off, the occasional bleat of a sheep, bark of a dog. Glynn's breath, slow and even, next to him. The air had a snap of cold to it, a warning of autumn, close on. He looked back to Glynn, who was staring at the moon, a beatific expression on her face. God, she really was beautiful. Oblivious to his stare, she said,

'Did you know every full moon has a name? This one, September's, is 'Harvest Moon'.' Fascinated by everything about her, Cal murmured, and shifted closer,

'I had no idea.' She smiled, closing her eyes briefly.

'Most people don't. See? Your shadow,' she pointed out, holding her hand out to the side. 'October has the 'Hunter's Moon'.'

'Why 'hunter's'?' Cal wondered, saying whatever he could to keep her talking, to listen to her voice.

'Because it's so bright, you can hunt by the light. In September, with light like this, you could continue to harvest your ready crops, and, when that task's finished, 'tis time to lay in other provisions for winter. Hunting.'

'But, y' could hunt… by this light, eh?' Cal said, quietly, unable to take his eyes off her. She finally turned her attention to him, and as their eyes met, she smiled, and hers fell away, shyly. As with 

everything about her, he was charmed and surprised. She had always come off as so tough, self-sufficient. A loner, and happy to be one, like him. Uncertainty had never seemed part of her. Quickly, she looked back out across the hills, pretending that she didn't feel his intense stare. Cal leaned close to her ear, whispered, a warning,

' 'M huntin' you, Glynn.' He was startled at how close to a growl it sounded. It didn't bother her, because she smiled, again, replied, gently,

'Are ye, now? You'd best be careful, then. 'T might be more dangerous than you realize,' then met his gaze. Cal searched her eyes, sparkling dark blue and stars. He leaned close, until there was no more than a breath between them. She held her ground, no fear on her face.

'Don't I know it, luv,' he admitted, an exhale of desire. Slowly, his lips met hers, a kiss so tender it surprised them both. As he drew back, she smiled, eyes soft as rose petals. He dared stroke her cheek, pushing aside rebellious strands of hair escaped from their pins. She unwrapped arms from her knees and relaxed toward him, initiating another soft kiss, sweet as anything he'd ever tasted. Their faces held close, she brushed her nose to his, and smiled.

'Where do we go, from here?' Cal wondered, quietly, fingertips to her cheek. She shook her head, and shrugged, brushed hair off his forehead, and her touch jolted like live current.

'I think …we go have dinner,' she teased, planted a brief, playful kiss, then shot him a mischievous grin, and stood. Standing to face 

her, Cal returned it, eager and willing to follow along with this game. After all, he reasoned, with a wicked smile, wasn't the thrill of the hunt part of the fun? She read his thoughts, matched his expression, leaned close, and initiated another lingering kiss. When she pulled back, Cal growled, and stole another before letting her go.

As he followed back to her Jeep, he turned an eye to the all-seeing moon, silent keeper of secrets, and smiled.


	9. Chapter 8

Hi to all…a short chapter to get caught up a bit with 'real-time' and the gang…hold on to your seats; it's gonna get crazy from here on. LURVE the reviews, they keep me going!

Chapter Eight

'Oh, my God,' Torres muttered. Loker glanced over at her, saw features twisted into disgust and shock. He straightened enough to get a look at the picture she was holding, then said, a flat tone,

'What?' She shook her head, turned her chair, shoved the photo at him.

'This. Lightman was involved…in THIS.' Loker stepped closer, took the picture and scanned it, a grisly look at the aftermath of one of the bombings perpetrated by the group Cal had been with. He kept his face neutral, especially because Ria's wasn't. She grabbed several more shots, stood, stuffed them into Loker's hand. There were bodies, destroyed buildings and cars, fires. Her face was a grimace, harsh and judgmental.

'There's more, lots more,' she told him, angrily, and Loker made

a 'yeah, I know', face, eyebrows raised, said,

'He warned us there would be harsh things in these files. These people were terrorists. What did you expect?'

'He should'a gone to prison, for this,' she snarled. Loker spun toward her, expression hard, voice irritated,

' Maybe he should have, but, he didn't. Why? First of all, he wasn't the one who was actually responsible for the bombings, or whatever else they did. Also, because he was doing what he HAD to do to keep his cover, saving other lives. Including his.' Torres was shaking

her head through his defense, complete disagreement.

' That's no excuse.' Loker barked a short, sharp laugh, threw the photos back down on the desktop, replied,

' Try that argument with any Government. All this falls under the category of 'Collateral damage in the name of National Security'. ' Torres put her hands on her hips, head still shaking as she surveyed the pictures.

' He's not innocent.'

'He never said he was.' Loker paused a few seconds, thinking,

then continued, 'Ever hear of 'empathy'? It means..'

'I KNOW what it means, Loker,' Torres bit back, brows furrowed, eyes flashing angrily.

'Then, try it, sometime,' Loker snapped, 'You know Lightman didn't exactly have what you'd call an 'ideal' childhood. Then he chooses this…path…that opens him up to exploitation. They lied, and used him, and his work, for terrible things. You wonder why he's such a bastard, sometimes? Here's part of your answer.' Loker pointed at the pictures, said,

'How'd you like to live, with that, on your conscience?'

Torres' face flashed shame, her lips pursed, because she knew the answer to that.

'It took guts to let us see all this stuff, knowing full well how bad it looks, knowing it could really change our perception of him, but he did it, anyways.'

'Why are you always defending him?' Torres wondered, confused and still angry, threw in a cheap shot, 'Especially with the way he treats you, and you're still so blindly loyal.' Now Loker's face showed disappointment, and anger, because that particular issue was

constantly in the back of his mind. However, he refused to give ground, not when he had made his decision.

'He's not perfect, Ria, neither am I…and neither are you. I prefer not to sit in judgment, especially when I don't have the full story.' He glared at her, eyes narrowed, said clearly,

'And, my loyalty...isn't blind.'

'I say, Loker, I ever need a lawyer, you're on 'm list,' Cal's voice cut in from behind them. Torres jerked around, guiltily, wondering how long their boss had been listening in, and Loker gave a small, self-

satisfied grin. Cal came in between them, gaze sharp on Torres, as he scanned her from beneath lowered brows. That look always had the effect of completely unnerving her, and she dodged away from his anger. She couldn't back up any further, as the desk was immediately behind her, so she was forced to allow Cal right up in her face. He got so close she had to lean over backwards, but managed to keep her eyes from meeting his. Cal was obviously furious, and his silences were more frightening than any tirade he might have launched. He said, quiet rage,

'Now, if you 'r through bein' Judge n Jury, I need Loker.' As he started to back away, she nodded, but he jerked back close, added,

'Unless 'y wanna be Executioner, too?' Torres shook her head, angry at how easily he could subdue her. Cal saw it, flashed her a snarl, and moved out of her space. She slid back into her chair, re-arranging the condemnatory photos.

'Have 'y got any thin' useful 't add?' Cal wondered, directly in her ear, and she shook her head, voice small,

'Not right now. I gave Gillian the most recent name I found early this morning.'

'Good,' Cal snarked, turned away.

'What if he…or she…is dead?' Torres managed, with a bit of bravado, pulling Cal back around.

'Then, I wanna know what piece 'o sod they 'r under. The answer is here. Find it.' Torres nodded, sighed, and, just because Cal couldn't see it, rolled her eyes.

Cal took a minute to scan the room, and was pleasantly surprised to see how much of the paperwork had actually been gone through in just a couple days. It had been a good idea to bring the girls in, but he would never admit it to Loker.

'Loker. Had a bit 'of a chat w' Collin, 'n I need you 't hop on over 't the place we visited th' other day, pick up some more files, 'n old film.' Loker made a confused face, said,

'You told me not to remember where that was.'

'No, I said if 'y TOLD anyone where 't was. I'd have 't kill ya. Pay closer attention, ay? Remember what else I told ya, 'n don' answer any questions, or tell 'im anything', right?' Loker nodded, his encounter in Lightman's kitchen still very clear in his mind.

''Y kin find it, then?'

'No problem,' Loker smiled.

'Good. Off 'w ya, then.'

Cal tossed a look at Torres' rigid back, and shuffled from the

room. Torres fought down the urge to shoot Loker a glare, and Loker knew it. Humming just a little, he gathered his keys, and headed out the door.


	10. Chapter 9

Hey to you all…jump on for the ride, eh? Picking up speed, now…please keep those reviews coming in, and thanks for being patient! Lurve to all you hooligans!

Chapter Nine

Cal wandered wearily into Gillian's office, earning a surprised look as she glanced up from the computer.

'Cal,' she acknowledged, eyebrows raised, to which he nodded, made his way over to the couch, and flopped down. She watched him carefully, quietly. He was wearing the same clothes as the past three days, and looked as if he'd barely slept in that same amount of time.

' 'S goin' good, eh?' he queried, and she nodded, guardedly,

' Loker and Torres are doing good work. I've verified about thirty possible, ruled out twice as many. Just waiting for that extra information you said you'd provide.' Cal nodded, sagging back into the couch cushions, so tired his eyes were barely blinking.

'Sent Loker after it,' he confirmed, then stirred enough to say, in an injured tone,

'Torres….thinks I should be in prison.' Gillian smiled, reminded,

'You want them to speak their minds, don't you?' Cal laughed, agreed,

'Yeah, right, I do.' Gill studied him a few more seconds before she said, calmly,

'I was just going to order lunch….Chinese. Let me order your favorite, OK?' Cal stared at her as if he were confused, and she tilted her head, expression matching his.

'What?'

'You ever read Arthur Conan Doyle? ' he asked, and she shook her head at the apparent randomness of the question,

'Yes. Sherlock Holmes, among other things.'

'Then you know that Holmes…when he was tryin' to solve a case…wouldn't eat, right? He figured he needed all his blood circulatin' into his brain, not digestin' food.' Gill made a perturbed face, reminded,

'Holmes was also addicted to opiates.' Cal brightened noticeably, said, obviously teasing,

'Ay, good idea. 'Y got any?' She sighed, gave him a fake-gruff look, and stood. Pulled out her very best authoritative voice, squared shoulders, and said,

'I'm ordering food, which you will eat. While we wait, you need to rest.'

'Mother Hen,' he accused, fondly. Cal was clearly fading fast; Gillian's couch was very comfy, and the room smelled like her, all delicious and sweet, flowers and perfume. Tired of fighting it, his eyes drifted shut, and he mumbled,

'Aye, Doctor...whatever 'y say…' peeked open one eye, looked at her suspiciously, asked,

' 'Y 'r not planning' on takin' advantage of me, in my weary and unable-to-fight-back state, are ya?' Gillian spotted the amused twinkle, the sly tilt of his lips, and shot back,

'Absolutely. Just as soon as you're asleep.'

'Oh, I say,' Cal chuckled, then allowed his head to fall back against the back of the couch. Gill kept still, unmoving, watched his breathing, until she was certain that he'd spiraled into a deep enough sleep for her to ease him down, onto a pillow, and covered him with a blanket. She turned on some music, very low, to block any interfering noise which might disturb his much-needed slumber, then slipped from the room, closed the door softly behind. Torres was walking toward her, and threw Gill a puzzled look, indicating the door.

'Do not disturb,' Gill ordered, as Ria got close, pointing at said door, 'Boss sleeping.'

The two looked at each other a few seconds, before Ria offered,

'So, what do you think he's got on his desk?' Gillian raised her brows, also clearly curious about what Cal was keeping from them.

'I do need a file from that general vicinity,' Gill admitted, and the conspirators hustled off to Cal's office. The door was open, and, even though they knew Cal was sound asleep, and Loker gone, both of them glanced around to be sure the coast was clear before they made their way to Cal's desk. It was covered with photographs, snagged from computer monitors, laid out sequentially, of Gill, Ria, and Eli, working, over the past three days. At the end of the photo documentary, was a hand-written note, in black Sharpie, that said,

'Busted. Back to work.'

Gill shook her head, groaned,

'We should've known.' Ria's expression matched Gillian's, and

both women sighed as their eyes met. Ria added,

'The worst part is, he knew what we would do.' and Gillian nodded in agreement.

'He always knows,' Ria muttered, and Gillian corrected her, with a secretive smile,

'Not always.' Without a backwards glance, Gillian headed out of the office, Ria close behind, wearing an annoyed look.

November 5th. Guy Fawkes Day. Bonfire Night. No matter what you called it, it was a day and night of revelry across the UK, with fires, noise, and partying. For Cal, and the rest of Sean's group, it was the day they'd spent the past two months preparing for. Ever since their brief evening spent beneath the September moon, Cal and Glynn had been kept apart by the crazy swirl of activity around them. Dealing with tourists ate up most days and early evenings; late-night planning sessions accounted for the rest of their waking hours. Days that fell between tour groups were occupied with weapons-practice, held far out in the concealment of the countryside. Both found small ways to keep the hunter and hunted game alive…the small touch of fingers, side by side, as they leaned over papers on a tabletop or exchanged pictures, a casual brush as they passed by one another, a lingering, hungry gaze across a room full of people.

Cal, for one, couldn't help but feel Paderick's angry attention to

their game, as he obviously had an eye for Glynn long before Cal had shown up. If they had to share conversation, Paderick didn't even make an attempt to be slightly civil. He resented Cal's willingness to shoot him, just as much as he resented his own reaction to it. And, he really hated Cal's sudden promotion in Sean's group.

As much as he tried not to, Cal was pulled closer and closer into Sean and Seamus' inner circle, a relationship based on their grudging respect of his talents and knowledge as much as Cal's personal hidden agenda. Murphy, Hamish, and Glynn were integral parts of Sean's violent machine, as was Liam, and all four of them were still unproven wild cards in the deadly hunt for the traitor. He really needed Sean to trust him, and, as much as he wished it could be otherwise, that was just the way it had to stay.

So, here they were, in Belfast, on November 5th. Five carloads of conspirators had arrived, covertly trickling in from all points of the compass, posing as revelers come to party the hours away. They had masks, and all manner of costumes to conceal their identities. Liam's part had been to ensure they all were cleared into the city, with their deadly packages he'd prepared neatly tucked into Hamish's Rover. The streets were awash with revelers, masked, some drunken, all boisterous and close to out of control. Uniformed troops were widely scattered around the city, armed, and serious about maintaining order. Sean's band had reconnoitered in a warehouse, which was large enough to conceal all their vehicles, yet central to all their chosen

'drop' spots.

When Cal drifted in, late afternoon, he was among the last to arrive. Nearly everyone else had dispersed to their pre-selected assignments, either to plant a live explosion, or stash a decoy bomb. In case any one was found, it would occupy Law enforcement while

distracting attention away from then true agenda, a devastating, synchronized, multi-location detonation across the entire city. Each 'mule' had been given a specific location to deliver his parcel to. When Cal stepped up to receive his assignment, Sean met his eye with a harsh, cruel grin. Sean had deliberately kept concealed who would be carrying the 'live' parcels, and who, the decoys; a clever device to keep his master plan a true secret. Should there be someone among his crew who might be tempted to betray the rest, no one except him, and Seamus, knew for certain which were the actual explosives, or when they were set to detonate. The only concrete thing anyone knew was that the explosions were going to go off sometime later in the evening, after they had all safely left the city.

'Glynn's setup on lookout fer ye,' Sean assured him, as he handed him an innocuous looking parcel. 'Drop it, 'n be gone. We meet back here, as planned.' Cal took it, careful to conceal his hesitancy. He really hoped he'd been given a 'blank', but, even if it wasn't a decoy, he had no choice but to follow through with the plant. He caught sight of Paderick, hanging out in the shadows behind Sean, cleaning his nails with a pocketknife. Paderick noticed his look, returned a sneer, disgust

and hate. Cal narrowed his eyes, made it clear the feeling was mutual, and Paderick actually laughed, out loud. Sean glanced back, silenced Paderick with a scowl.

'Off 'w ye, Paderick,' Sean snapped, and Paderick complied, slinking out the back door. Sean shook his head, annoyance, said irritably,

'Stupid blighter.' He turned back to Cal, gave him a slap on the shoulder, and warned,

'Watch yer back. 'S hot on them streets.'

Cal nodded, tucked the pound-of-butter-sized parcel into a deep inside pocket of his ankle-length trench coat. Pulled out a Guy Fawkes mask, pulled it over his features, and left the building. He immediately hated wearing the mask. It severely limited his forward sight, obliterated peripheral vision completely. Muttering a curse, he tried to adjust it so he could see further, without much success. After a minute or so he gave up, reminded himself he only had to wear it until he made the drop, and got out of sight of it's location. He made his way down the streets, dodging other revelers, and finally came round the corner of the street where he was to leave his package. He immediately spotted Glynn, at her post across the way, where she could see the entire street. She stiffened, spotting him, recognizing his distinctive walk, and gave a subtle nod. He returned it, and she gave him the 'all clear' sign. Outwardly casual, but inwardly shaking, Cal made his way to the Post box located in the middle of the street. Once there, he looked back to Glynn, who cast another perusal along the street, and again gave him a nod.

Cal pulled the parcel out, and dropped it in as fast as he could, as if sheer speed could negate the guilt of the act. He could see his hands shaking, and took a deep breath, mind spinning with fear and regret. It was too late to undo, and he knew it. He could only pray, for his consciences' sake, that his drop was a blank. He thanked God that they would be well away before any of the bombs went off, so he would be spared either confirmation, or exemption. After another deep breath, he moved off, crossed the street, slowly and deliberately, so he wouldn't draw undue attention. The mask was suddenly suffocating, and he started to pull it up, off his face.

In retrospect, what happened next seemed so incredibly surreal that he felt like he'd been dropped into a movie shoot, filmed in slo-mo, from multiple camera angles. Movement at the far right end of the street caught his eye; a man, running as if he were late for an appointment, charged around the corner, spotted Cal, and stopped dead in his tracks. Cal blinked, confused, and slowed his steps, squinted at the man, who seemed familiar.

It was Paderick. In the middle of the street, Cal stopped, now holding his mask in his hand. Paderick grinned, an evil snarl, and fumbled in his coat pocket for something with his right hand, flipping Cal the bird with his left. Motion in his freshly-freed peripheral vision pulled Cal's attention left, toward Glynn, who had also spotted Paderick, and was coming to her feet, face curled into fear and uncertainty. She was shaking her head, eyes widening, finger raised to point back, toward Paderick, her lips forming a warning call.

Cal half-turned toward the man, who had pulled out what looked like a small remote control, and was laying his finger to the switch, it's antenna aimed toward the Post box where Cal's drop lay. As Paderick threw another vicious look at Cal, a car careened around the corner, swerving wildly, and Cal glimpsed what looked to be a totally wasted fellow behind the wheel a second before he dodged out of the way. Just as the car passed between Cal and the Post box, an explosion ripped through the air. The hapless driver and his car caught most of the detonation, but there was more than enough concussion left to throw Cal the rest of the way across the street, slamming him face-first onto the cobblestones. He felt like he'd been punched in the back by a truck. His ears were ringing, he couldn't hear, he couldn't see, something was in his eyes...he dashed his hand across them, now saw blood. Someone was kneeling alongside, hands grabbing his shoulders, shaking him. He looked up, vision swirling, saw Glynn, terror on her face.

'C'mon...we have to go…' her lips formed the words, but he never heard them. He tried to pull his senses together, managed to sit up, but was too stunned to think clearly. His hands were covered in blood, he saw it dripping from his head, onto his lap. He looked out toward the street, saw the burning scrap of the car that had saved his life, but not that of it's driver, saw people running, dimly realized they had to get out of here. Glynn, her face a wasteland of unreadable fears, took his mask from his hand, gently pulled it over his face, an effort to conceal his injuries, speaking urgently just above the ringing in his head, a false calm,

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry…we have to go…They can't find us here….Oh, my God, Cal…please, can you stand?' He thought he nodded, and allowed Glynn to brace her shoulder under his arm, get him to his feet. He swayed drunkenly, the street spun beneath his feet, and he thought he would vomit, but managed not to. People were rushing past them, somewhere in the distance alarms were going off, he could smell the burning car, oil and gasoline.

' It was Paderick,' he mumbled, over and over, as they staggered down the sidewalk, as fast as Cal could handle, ' Did you see? You saw him, right? Paderick…..how…?' Glynn somehow managed to keep him on his feet, replying quietly, despite her panic,

'Yes, I saw, but, I don't know, I just don't know, Cal. We'll find out, I swear, but we have to get off the street. You're bleeding, love…all over…can you go a bit further? We're nearly to Liam's.'

Liam was standing out in front of his shop, looking down the street, having heard the explosion, and when he saw the pair, he rushed to help. Just as Cal's knees buckled, he caught hold of him around the waist, eyes hard against Glynn's.

'What happened?' he demanded, his face clearly showing how dangerous it was to be seen assisting them. If there was anyone who'd seen them leave the scene, they'd all be done in. Glynn was shaking her head, said,

' Paderick. Somehow, for some reason…he detonated Cal's drop. He had a remote trip, it must've overridden the timer.' Liam snapped a particularly vile curse, tightened his grip, forcing a groan out of Cal, and hustled them into his shop. Once inside, he locked the door, flipped the sign over to 'Closed', and turned off the lights.

Glynn pulled the mask off so Liam could see what lay beneath, and he said,

'Damn. We need 't get him upstairs.' He lifted Cal's chin, looked in his eyes, swore again. Whatever he said next blurred into nonsense in Cal's mind, and he felt his legs give way as his consciousness swirled into a black hole of oblivion.

'Cal. Cal, wake up,' a soft voice urged, a gentle hand to his cheek, 'Wake up, Cal.' Fingers tenderly smoothed hair from his face, and Cal struggled to open his eyes, leave the blackness. His first impression, was pain. He hurt, virtually everywhere. He tried a deep breath, had to cut it short as a stabbing pain lanced through his chest., causing him to cough, which made a wave of nausea to sweep through him.

'Bloody hell,' he panted, blinked to clear his vision. Glynn was sitting beside him, on the couch. She looked tired, worried, but managed a smile. Pulled the blankets higher over his chest, asked,

'Hey. How you feeling?' Cal winced, moaned,

'Like some thin' the dog drug in.' She laughed, just a little, and her features folded into an expression of compassion. After a moment, she said, pertly,

'You look like hamburger.'

'Ah, now that's lovely 't hear,' he groaned, eyes falling shut. Her hand returned to stroking his forehead, which brought a tiny curve to his lips. He lay still, enjoying the simple brush of her fingers against his skin.

'Do you know today's date?' she asked, which brought a frown to his face.

' 'S the fifth,' he said, uncertainly, opening his eyes, and she pursed her lips, shook her head.

'The sixth.' To his confusion, she explained,

'I've been waking you, every hour, since yesterday. You have a concussion, among other things. Do you remember…'

'The bomb? Paderick?' Cal nodded, a rumble of anger, and she nodded.

'Sean's gone quite mad about the whole thing. His grand plan, ruined. He's got people looking for Paderick, who, of course, is gone missing. Sean finds him, he's a dead man. Everyone's gone home, to keep down any suspicions.' Cal listened, scowling, his weary brain assimilating everything she said. After a moment, he glanced around, not recognizing his surroundings.

'We're at Liam's. We didn't dare go to the Hospital, but it turns out Liam has quite a few hidden talents. Including the ability to put in very tidy stitches.' She lifted the hair just above his hairline, indicated he feel the rather large, but neatly closed, wound.

'Damn,' he muttered.

'Don't worry,' she assured him,' no one 'll see that scar.' He made a face, asked, semi-seriously,

' 'M I missin' any body parts?' She laughed, her concern easing.

'No, just some blood and skin, and a couple broken ribs. Looks like you'll mend.' He sighed, winced at the movement, gave her a sly look.

' 'Y did 'n have to go 't all this trouble 't get me alone 'w ya, 'y know.' She smiled, broadly, leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. She tasted lovely, and he suddenly felt very tired.

'Go to sleep. I'll wake you.' Cal nodded, agreement, but forced his eyes open long enough to ask,

'Kin I get some thin' 't eat?' Glynn laughed, said,

'Absolutely.' She moved, as if she would stand, but Cal grabbed her by the hand, pulled her back down beside him, pleaded,

'Stay, all right?' and she nodded.

"Aye, love. I'm not going anywhere.' At that, he smiled, and faded back into the healing arms of sleep.


	11. Chapter 10

Oi! A shortie chapter to tide you all over. A lot coming next, and probably a VERY long chapter, but we are getting closer to the answers...or, are we? Enjoy, and review, please!

Chapter Ten

'Cal. Cal, wake up.' A gentle hand fell against his chest, gave a soft shake. He struggled to wake as that sweet voice coaxed again, 'Wake up, Cal.' Finally Cal opened his eyes, blinked, a surprised look on his face. It was Gillian leaning over him, and outside the windows of her office, streetlights were on. Her features were kind and concerned, and she smiled, tenderly.

'Hey. Welcome back.' Cal grimaced, pretending he was cranky as he sat up, asked, gruffly,

'What time is it?'

'Nine, PM,' Gill told him, standing, lifting a bag from the end table to wave beneath his nose. The aroma of Chinese hit his senses, and he realized he was absolutely famished.

'I thought I was gettin' lunch,' he grumbled, a hint of mock annoyance as he took the bag, tore it open. She chuckled, sat in the chair across from him.

'Sorry. You were really out. I decided you needed to sleep a bit longer.' Cal declined to comment, fishing out his food and a set of chopsticks. Finding only one meal, he wondered,

'You not eatin'?' and she shook her head.

'Already did. Go on, enjoy.' He shrugged, and fell to it.

'So,' he questioned, around the food, ' You 'n Torres find what 'y were lookin' for, on my desk?' Gillian blushed furiously, opened her mouth to deny his accusation, closed it, shook her head, and gave a sigh of surrender. Then shrugged, made no attempt to reply. He smiled, knowingly. Made the sly observation,

' 'S not your fault. 'Y 're females, 'y can't help it. 'Y 're like cats. Just can't keep out 'o other peoples' business.' Gill narrowed her eyes at him, an evil glare, which he totally ignored, said,

' 'S why I like dogs.' He chewed for a few moments, then added, thoughtfully,

'Then again, cats do have their place.' Gillian shook her head, again, and stood. He swirled noodles up with the chopsticks, said,

'Where's that list 'y said you had? 'D like a look-see.' She retrieved a sheet of paper from her desk, laid on the table so he could peruse it while he ate.

'I was able to screen out a few more names, based on what Loker brought back, but there's still quite a bit more to go through.'

Cal barely started to read when he began scowling, fiercely, stabbed chopsticks toward the list.

'Liam O'Dweyer. Take his name off.' Gillian shook her head, disagreement, and confusion.

'Why? It's quite possible he survived, he's still listed as MIA. He could've disappeared because he turned you all over.' Cal was shaking his head through her entire reasoning, and snapped, angrily, voice raised,

'No. Take 'im off. He's not 't be considered.' Gillian squared her jaw, held her ground.

'Why, Cal? What aren't you telling me?' Cal slammed his food container down, glared up at Gillian from beneath lowered brows, an expression she had long ago learned meant he was incredibly angry. His eyes were sharp as daggers, and glittered dangerously. His voice was controlled, but vibrated with rage,

'Look at th' files. The traitor was still turnin' Operatives over, years later. Long after Liam was gone MIA.'

'He could've still been undercover, using another alias, one we haven't found yet,' Gill bit back, unwilling to back down. 'I know how these covert-ops go…let a man get written up as MIA, or KIA, then send him off, somewhere else…different name, same game.' Cal came to his feet, right up into her face, spoke through gritted teeth, slowly and clearly,

'Take him off.' His gaze stabbed, mercilessly. Gillian held out against his anger for several seconds, struggling to keep her own face blank, without success. She was just as angry as he was, and let him know it.

'Fine,' she snapped, pointed at the list, 'Anyone else you'd care to give a reprieve to? If you already know all the answers, why are you wasting our time on this, at all?' then turned away, which left him glaring at her back. Suddenly, his anger drained away, and his expression grew pained. Damn, he was such as wanker, sometimes,

and he bloody well knew it. Gillian was not the enemy. He shifted his feet, shook his head at himself, eyes closed, lips pursed over whatever he wanted to say.

'Gill,' he said, quickly, tone softened, with a hint of apology, which halted her departure, and turned her back towards him. His face was full of regret. She had no idea why, but it made her stop, and listen. His hands formed appeasing gestures, and he sighed,

'Look, I can't tell 'y why. Jus' believe me….it wasn't Liam. 'N I don' have all the answers, luv. Never have.' Gillian considered his words for several seconds, her face tight and unrevealing. Finally, she said, flatly,

'Good night, Cal,' and, with a toss of her hair, left him standing in her office, alone. His chin sunk to his chest, Cal plopped back down onto her couch, staring off blankly at nothing. He let his head fall back against the cushions, and closed his eyes, wishing he could change so many things about his life, and what it had become.

A brief rap on the doorframe startled Cal, and he jerked his attention toward the sound. Loker was leaning in the doorway, eyebrows raised in surprise, expression full of excitement. When Cal met his gaze, Loker said,

'You are so not gonna believe what I found.'


	12. Chapter 11

Hey to all…what did Loker find? The answer is here, plus more questions raised that need cleared up. The next chapter is gonna get steamy, but I will try to keep it from slipping into an M…enjoy, and please review!

Chapter Eleven

Cal stood in the shower, hot water sluicing over his aching body, washing away the dried blood and grime. God, it felt good to get clean, he thought, scrubbing his hair, careful to mind the stitches. He tried not to move fast, it made him dizzy, and but, other than that, and the aches, he felt totally sublime as he stepped from the shower, wrapped himself in a towel. He stepped in front of the mirror, examining all his cuts and bruises; Glynn hadn't been joking, he did look like hamburger. His back, in particular, was a mess, all black and blue and healing cuts. There were bruises on his chest, scuffs healing on his palms, and knees. Some minor damage to his face, mostly cuts. He had been bloody lucky. If that car hadn't driven past at the exact moment it had, he'd have been blasted to bits. He winced, remembering that the driver of said car, and two others, had been killed, and a few other people on the street injured, but was thoroughly grateful that Glynn had been far enough away to be spared. He finished drying off, slipped on the clothes Liam had scrounged up, feeling one hundred percent better. After two days of lying about, it was good to be up, moving around. The clothes were too big, and way outdated, but they were clean, which was all that mattered, right now.

Cal was feeling positively chipper as he made his way back through the living room, toward the kitchen, wondered what was for supper, savoring the delicious aromas drifting through the air. He heard Liam's voice, and it's tone made him stop, just out of sight, listening as he spoke to Glynn. Their words weren't quite loud enough to discern, but Cal tilted his head, attention caught by some strange undercurrent of emotion between the two people that he couldn't identify. Wished he could see their expressions, but without stepping forward, there was no way to do that. He inched forward enough to hear Liam chuckle, say,

' Still your own woman, eh?' and Glynn laughed in reply. There was long-lived familiarity in their manner, which made Cal wonder exactly what their relationship was, or had been. His mood darkened, just a bit, as he imagined it had perhaps been …intimate? His brow furrowed, and he cleared his throat, so they would hear, and not think he'd been eaves-dropping, re-started his steps, and came round the corner, into the kitchen. Liam and Glynn stood close, but their body language was not that of lovers, current or past. It was…. something else, Cal couldn't quite put his finger on. Liam's face was relaxed and friendly as he met Cal's eye. He seemed genuinely pleased with Cal's

recovery. Neither acted as if he'd interrupted some clandestine conversation, no guilt, or fear that he'd overheard anything they didn't want him to. Neither one shifted position in relation to the other, which meant they were comfortable in one another's presence.

'How 'r ye feelin, Cal?' Liam queried, turning toward him, 'Good 't see 'y up 'n about.'

Cal nodded, appreciatively, replied,

'Much better, thanks. Really, I mean it, Liam.' Liam smiled, offered Cal his hand to shake, which Cal stepped forward, without hesitation, and accepted.

'Glad 't hear it,' Liam said, turned to pull plates from an upper cupboard, and headed toward the dining room with them. Glynn was busy with something at the stovetop, said over her shoulder,

'Ready for dinner?' Cal scowled at her back, attempting to decipher the tone the two had shared, but gave up, for now.

'Aye, 't smells fab,' he admitted, accepted the wine bottle and opener she passed his way, and followed Liam into the dining room.

The wine was exceptional, the food simple but superb, and the company…well, Cal could hardly ask for better. Glynn laughed readily, had a sharp wit, and loved to banter words. Liam, too, was turning out to be quite the decent bloke, with a reserved sense of humor, albeit a tad on the 'too serious' side, in Cal's estimation. He had strong opinions, and wasn't afraid to speak them, and it became very plain that he considered himself to be Glynn's guardian, of sorts. He ran Cal through some verbal hoops, and all in all, seemed satisfied with Cal's answers. It appeared he had been an undercover Op for a long time, and, obviously, a very good one. Cal covertly ran his own screening, but spotted no deception leakage to any of his carefully chosen and phrased questions; whether that meant Liam was telling the truth or not,…well, there was the challenge. A good operative was a trained liar, and Cal certainly hoped to prove that his science could bust even the best of them.

As plates were cleaned, Liam glanced at his watch, made a face, and stood.

'I've got 't go out,' he told them, carrying his dishes to the sink. 'L be back, in a bit.' Cal and Glynn just nodded; his business was none of theirs. Liam pulled on a jacket, and left, headed down the back staircase which was just off the kitchen, leaving the two alone.

For several seconds, they just looked at one another, both unsure how to proceed from here. For his part, Cal could stand it no longer; he had to know some truths about her. He was tired of his façade, and really wanted to end at least some of the lies that bound them together.

' So…is this place safe, Glynn?' he asked, and she gave him a puzzled look, especially since it was an odd topic. Her brow furrowed, confused.

' 'Safe'?' she repeated, 'As in….?' Cal nodded, leaned forward to refill his glass, then lounged back, body language relaxed and open. 'Clean. Kin we talk, y' know…'bout who we really are, why we're really here?' Glynn's face went blank, and she studied him closely.

' Or, 'r there hidden cameras, 'n the like?' Understanding what he meant, she gave a sharp laugh, shook her head.

'Not here, Cal. Liam keeps a lot of secrets.'

'Kinda like us, eh?' Cal prodded, watching her closely. She folded her hands, stroked the back of her knuckles, looking at them, and

nodded sadly. Self-comforting, that gesture, and Cal knew it.

' I wanna know who 'y are, Glynn,' he told her, gently,' not th' 'Official File' story….You.' A risky topic of conversation, and they both understood that if they crossed this line, there would be no going back to the way it'd been. Dangerous, possibly deadly, ground, the truth. Words, once they were shared, could never be reclaimed. She met his intense gaze, uncertainly, but without fear. Then shrugged, asked, flippantly,

'Like, what?'

'Where's home, 't start with?' Her features relaxed; the question wasn't confrontational, and clearly brought good memories.

' Just outside Glasgow.'

'Oooooo, a fiery Scottish lass,' Cal hissed, with a laugh. He'd g at them, and guessed as much. She made a silly face, sipped her wine, returned,

'What about you?'

'Well, was born 'n raised in London.'

'But, that's never felt like home, has it?' she said, perceptively, and he shot her a sharp look. And he thought he'd be reading HER.

'No, 't hasn't,' Cal confirmed. 'Guess I haven't found 'm place, yet.'

Glynn sighed, expression distant, as she admitted,

'I'm ready to go home.' Cal tilted his head, compassionately, asked,

'How long 'y been 'under'?' She made an exasperated sound, shook her head tiredly.

'Too long. Years. I miss it…being able to work on my art, what I want to work on, not just 'money pieces'. I miss my family, music, being able to go out, dancing….shopping!' Met his gaze, continued, 'Knowing who I can trust, just being myself, not always playing a role.' Cal nodded, watching a parade of emotions cross her face. Held his breath, just a bit, after he asked,

'Got someone special, waitin'?' She narrowed her eyes at him, a devilish sparkle, a wide smile. Said, teasingly, as she leaned closer,

' 'N what if I do?' He smiled, seeing the truth, met that gaze, and replied, dead serious,

'Then I'd have 't do me best 't get 'cha 't change yer mind.' She chuckled, drained her wine, face completely happy.

'Why don't you watch some telly while I clean up the kitchen?' she suggested, standing, gathering dishes.

'Let me help,' Cal offered, came to his feet, suddenly felt just a little dizzy, whether from the wine, or standing too fast, he wasn't quite sure. Glynn saw it, steadied him, hand on his arm.

' Thanks, but I can handle it, this time. Go, sit, rest,' she ordered. ' I'm not the one with a concussion.'

'What are you thinking about?' Glynn's voice broke into Cal's reverie. 'You look…pensive.' He blinked, looked her way, realizing he hadn't been watching telly, but had drifted off into his own thoughts.

''Pensive'?' he chuckled, 'Now, there's a word.' and she smiled, nodded. She was studying him, a contemplative look on her face. She had a black leather-bound book folded against her chest with one hand, and an assortment of other items in her free hand. He smiled, softly, shook his head, and shrugged.

'Dunno. Jus' driftin'. She nodded, came and emptied the items in her hands onto the low coffee table he had his feet propped up on, turned off the telly, asking,

'Headache, or any more dizziness?'

'Nah. Guess 'm just enjoyin' feelin' a bit domestic, fer a change. Never thought 'd miss it,' he admitted, as she turned around with alcohol-soaked cotton balls in her hand, sat on the coffee table in front of him.

'Ah, well there goes THAT illusion, eh?' he observed, making a face. She agreed, pertly, head titled,

'I'd have to say not too many ordinary people have to get bomb-inflicted wounds tended, in the evening,' and raised her hands to care for the wounds on his face and head.

He studied her face, carefully, the shadows her lashes cast on her cheeks, the sparkle of an earring, peeking out from beneath her hair, the concerned pout of her face and lips and she smoothed through his hair, to check his stitches. She made a soft sound, then gently patted the healing wound with alcohol. He winced, made a pouty face, with one eye closed, complained,

'Ow.' She gave a half-smile, and shook her head, chided,

'Big baby,' then tucked his bangs up, off his face, fingers trailing gently down to his ear, along his jaw and throat, coming to rest on his collarbone. Her eyes, meeting his, were soft, sapphire blue in this light. Her smile faded, and she sighed, face relieved, admitted,

'I'm glad you're all right, Cal.' He saw remembered fear cross her face, and hated the thought that she'd had to feel that way, for him. He brought his hand up to cover hers, gave a gentle squeeze, told her,

'M just glad you didn' get hurt, 'cause 'o me.' She laughed, said,

'Dodging bombs is one of my specialties, didn't you know?'

He cocked his head, squinted his eyes, looked up at the ceiling as if struggling to remember, said,

' Don' recall readin' that in your file.'

'No?' she shot back, playfully, eyebrows raised.

'No,' he echoed, mirroring her tone, looking back at her beautiful eyes. She searched his face, making no effort to move away from his touch.

'Once, you said you'd like to see one of my portraits,' she said, seriously, 'Would you, still?' and he blinked, caught off-guard by the question.

'Oh, yeah,' he assured, quickly; he could see this was important, to her. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand from beneath his, turned to lift the black leather bound book off the coffee table. Now that he had a clear look at it, Cal could see it was a sketchbook, well-used, but carefully tended. She held it tightly, close to her chest, her heart. Obviously, it was very dear to her. After a moment, she opened it, paged back through it, paused, looking at what was on the page a few moments before handing it over for him to view.

Cal sat up, straight, as he took it, and his lips parted in surprise as he looked at…himself. She anticipated the question sitting on his tongue, told him,

'I drew that, just now, standing in the kitchen doorway, watching you.' She touched his profile, on the paper, a caress, but her voice was troubled.

'You looked so…sad. Pensive, eh?'

'Damn,' he breathed, not quite believing how well she'd captured not only his likeness, but his emotions of the moment. Eyes, focused on some distant memory, chin low to chest, even the loose shock of bangs, spilling over his forehead.

'You like it?' she finally asked. 'It's just a quick sketch, mind you.'

'Absolutely,' he nodded, still a bit stunned. Glanced to her, asked, 'Kin I look?' indicating the previous pages, and she gave a brief nod of consent. Cal flipped back through the pages, found a diverse range of artwork, lots of portraits, and, in the most recent pages, quite a few pictures of himself.

'When did 'y draw all these?' he asked, brow puckered, flattered and confused at the same time. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled, true amusement, then winked,

'You aren't as observant as you'd like to think, are you?'

'Obviously not,' Cal huffed, feeling rather humbled.

'I'd like to have you sit for me, sometime, all right? So I can do a proper job.'

'Yeah, all right,' Cal agreed, closed the cover, almost reverently, and handed it back to her. Their fingers brushed, then their gazes, suspending time for several moments. Realizing he needed to leave go of the book, Cal dropped his eyes, mumbled,

'There 'y go,' and relinquished the book to her grasp. She tucked it back against her chest, still smiling, then laid it down on the table. He looked back to her, confusion swirling in his chest and head as to what he wanted to do, or what he should do, next.

Glynn helped solve his dilemma by leaning forward, and pressing a kiss to his lips, gentle and undemanding. He returned it, hands going to her shoulders, knotted into her shirt, to drag her closer. She slipped off the coffee table, where she'd been sitting, and moved to kneel between his knees, hands resting on his thighs. His nostrils were filled with her aroma, roses and lavender, a cloud of desire. He could taste the wine on her lips, smoother than silk. He leaned back into the couch, pulled her to his chest, gave a small groan as her weight came against his aching body. She pulled back, briefly, eyes concerned, but he assured her, breathlessly,

' 'S all right, luv,' and eased her back into his embrace. She looped arms around his neck, brought her kiss back to his, eagerly. He twined fingers into her hair, held her tightly, dizzy with desire, hungry for the taste of her. Glynn matched his passion with her own, with no hesitation. After what seemed only seconds, Glynn stiffened, drew back, slightly, sighed a warning onto his lips,

'Liam's back.' Cal forced his eyes open to meet hers, his ears , just then catching the sound of footsteps, coming up the back stairs. He wondered how she'd heard it, because he sure hadn't, so totally lost in kissing her. He pulled back, slightly, to catch his breath, stroked her cheek, willing her to meet his gaze. She did, eyes every bit as hungry as his; but Liam's steps had nearly reached the top of the stairs, any second he'd be in the kitchen.

' I don' wanna stop,' he groaned, quietly, tightened his grip around her, relished one more lingering kiss before letting go. She shared a rosy-cheeked look of frustration with him, growled,

'YOU don' wanna,' and curled her fingers into his shirtfront, like claws, eyes flashing. Gave him a warning which set his blood on fire,

' I'm not gonna go easy on you, darlin', when I finally get 'm hands on ye.' Cal realized she had lost some self-control, as her accent had slipped through into her words. He gritted his teeth, narrowed his eyes, grabbed her wrists, sharply, eyes glittering.

'Don' tease me so, woman,' he rumbled, still out of breath. She showed her teeth, bit his hand, but carefully.

' 'M not teasin'…..'M promisin,' she told him, relaxed in his grasp, then leaned against his ear, whispered,

' Just imagine what we got 't look forward to, ' and nibbled his earlobe.

The door in the kitchen swung open, and they heard Liam step in, close it, the rustle of his coat as he pulled it off. Glynn stood, began gathering up the cotton and alcohol, and Cal laid back into the couch, pretended he was drifting off to sleep, even though his heart was racing. Glynn was turning toward the kitchen when Liam stepped through the doorway, his features grim. Glynn froze, queried,

'What's wrong?' Cal roused at her tone, and sat up, looked toward Liam, who quickly concealed whatever it was that weighed on his mind. Liam smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes; a fake smile, a ruse to cover the truth.

' 'Tis naught.' Changed the subject, looked at Cal, asked Glynn,

'How's the head?' Glynn replied,

'Comin' along.' A hint of concern crept into her tone, onto her face, as she continued,

' 'M still a little worried…he had a round of dizziness, after you

left.' Cal decided to play it up a bit, so he winced, twisted his face as he swung his feet to the floor.

Liam scowled, said, seriously,

'Don' be rushin' it, eh, Cal? 'Y kin stay here, 's long as 'y need 't.' His gaze wandered between the two, keenly, and his expression softened. With an amused grin, he added,

'Both 'o ye.' Glynn blushed, furiously, and Cal had to clamp down on his own expression quickly, lest he give anything else away. Liam's mood dissipated, and he sighed.

' I have 't go outta town, fer a week, maybe two,' he told them, and his manner clearly warned that he would not be giving them any reasons. ' 'M leavin' in th' mornin'. Glynn's expression was unhappy, but she didn't raise any objections.

'I've put a 'Gone on Holiday' sigh in th' window. If 'y leave b' fore I get back, jus' leave it up. 'N be careful. Mind yourselves, e'en back in town. We've not found Paderick, yet…'n Sean's not th' only one lookin'. He's had one run at ye. I've no doubt he'd like another.' Curious, he asked Cal,

'Any idea what he's got agin ye?' Cal snorted, scrunched his face, and looked at Glynn, pointed. Liam gave a sharp, unpleasant laugh, shook his head, understanding completely, rumbled,

'Stupid bastard. He coulda' had us all done in.'

'Well, that, 'n I did shoot 'im… kinda,…' Cal admitted, chagrin in his voice, and on his face. At that, Liam really laughed,

'Oh, aye, I did hear 'bout that. Too bad it were with blanks.' Cal was taken back by the vengefulness in Liam's tone, but realized he was dead serious. All three exchanged grim looks, certain it wouldn't go well with Paderick, no matter who found him.

Loker, with Cal in his wake, hustled swiftly into his personal work zone in Cal's office.

' 'R the girls gone?' Cal wanted to know, and Loker nodded.

'Good. Don' want any more eyes on this than there needs 't be, fer now.' Loker gave a nod of agreement, then plopped into his chair, started moving files, while Cal stood over him, hovering expectantly, an anxious scowl on his face. Loker's voice conveyed excitement, as he began his revelation.

'OK, so, I decided there were just too many variables influencing how we screened these people, so I stopped looking at individuals, and started looking at who they reported to. In your original reports of the incidents, you hinted that there was a strong likelihood of upper level involvement, without actually making any accusations.' Cal shifted, surprised, and impressed that Loker had picked up on that; apparently neither of the girls had done so. Loker gave a smug grin, pleased that he'd managed to gain some respect from Cal. He plunged ahead, growing more animated as he talked, tapping up info onto his monitor. Pictures flashed past as he spoke, illustrating his creative thought process, and words got faster and more excited as he went on,

'There are only half-dozen guys who had, or have, the pull, experience or tenure to get their hands on these type of high-end operations. Of course, they have people that insulate them from actually dealing with Operatives directly, but I screened those guys with the same criteria. Then, I just ruled them out by their contact, or lack of it, with whatever team of operatives was involved in each incident where someone's cover was blown. Then, I looked for common denominators among the Operatives, and worked my way back to the top. Then, just to really make it simple, I thought; well, what if the guy in charge completely circumvented Protocols, to protect or promote his own personal agendas? I found one person who was completely un-insulated from Operatives whose names were always connected to field deaths of their respective teams. Three people matched all my criteria; one boss, two underlings.' He paused, for effect, then tapped one final key on his keyboard, which flashed the names he'd chosen. Cal squinted, reading, and his face contorted into a mask of anger.

'These two reported directly to their superior, our favorite 'if I can help, just call', MI6 guy,' Loker pointed at the first name, then dropped his finger down to the two below it, 'And, one of these two you already ruled out.' Loker watched Cal's face, closely, for his reaction, amended, 'Or, maybe not.'

''Y 'r absolutely sure o' this?' he demanded, thrusting a finger toward the screen, and Loker nodded, certain, no doubt on his face whatsoever, said, clearly,

'There's more proof.' Cal swung toward Loker, eyes flashing, snarled,

'Show me.' Loker spun his chair around to the desk opposite the monitor, spreading out paperwork, eager to continue confirming his brilliant deductions. Cal leaned over his shoulder, gaze burning with fury as he devoured every word Loker said.

Behind them, the screen shone brightly, the three names emblazoned across it, their pictures close alongside each;

Collin Michaels

Hamish O'Rourke

Liam O'Dweyer


	13. Chapter 12

Hey all….so sorry for the long delay! Hope this chapter helps make up for the wait. I intended it to be longer, but didn't want to keep you waiting! Just means I will have to add another chapter or two to the story.

I did my best to keep this PG-13, just so you know ;-)…..and any songs/music/bands mentioned is this work are copyrighted by their respective owners.

Enjoy, more to come, and the finale isn't far off, now.

Chapter Twelve

Cal fussed with the cuffs of his shirtsleeves where they exited from his jacket, taking the time to ponder exactly how he'd gotten into such a spot. Thought back to morning. Curled up on the couch, he'd feigned sleep, watching Glynn and Liam as they passed a few words before he left, still unable to discern what emotion, what version of affection, they were sharing. It peeved him that he couldn't put a finger on it. Once Liam had hugged Glynn, and closed the door, he made it a point to rustle, let her know he was awake, drawing a broad smile from Glynn.

'Feel like going out for some shopping, after breakfast?' she'd suggested, 'seein's how you're going to need something else to wear, when we decide to head back?' She had a good, point, so he'd reluctantly agreed. He hated shopping, but he really wanted to be with her.

Shopping had led them round past a Club called 'The Raven', which Glynn proclaimed was her favorite haunt when she was staying in Belfast. He'd seen her wistful expression when she read that night's headliner band, and, remembering their conversation the previous evening, he'd suggested they go out, dancing. She'd protested, expressing concern about his injuries, but he read on her face how much she wanted to go, and shrugged off her worries.

So, here he was, feeling ridiculously like a teen-ager going to his first Prom, waiting for his date to emerge. He checked the time, again. Looked at his reflection, again, wrinkling his nose at his still-fading scratches and bruises. He still sported a 'shadow', since he really couldn't get a close shave due to them. Guessed that was all right; 'shadows' were becoming very trendy. Hair, smoothed back, concealed the stitches in his scalp, nicely. He'd managed to round up a decent-fitting black linen suit and crisp white shirt at the local second-hand shop, but decided against a tie. He tucked his hands into his pockets, and wandered the living room, pacing away his nerves as best he could. Bloody ridiculous, he muttered at himself. A grown man, still set off his game by the prospect of a first date.

He froze at the rattle of the door, turned to watch Glynn glide out into the room. It took a second for him to remember to close his mouth, which had fallen open in surprise. Glynn smiled at him, softly, gave a small laugh, asked,

'What?' Blinking quickly, scowling as if completely confused, Cal slipped past her to peer into the bathroom. Stepped in, looked around, began lifting towels, looking behind the door, as if he'd misplaced something.

'What ARE you doing?' Glynn laughed.

' M lookin' fer someone I know, who walked in here 'n hour ago…'d 'y happen 't see anyone else in there?' Cal replied, turning back to her, and gesturing toward the empty room. Glynn gave him a gentle cuff across the arm with the back of her hand, chided, grinning,

'Behave,' and Cal moved in, close to her, said,

'Nev-ah, luv.' God, she was beautiful. The auburn waves of her hair were pinned up, baring neck and shoulders, wispy tendrils framing face. Silver earrings dangled alongside her delicious throat, matched the sparkling choker wrapped around it.

Cal swallowed, hard, eyes roaming over her, appreciatively. She'd found a black lace dress, which not only bared shoulders, but revealed the exquisite length of shapely legs…way up. He was wondering exactly how she was going to manage to dance in that without revealing a whole lot more than he wanted anyone else to see. He licked his lips, realizing he couldn't wait to see how she did it. She did a small pirouette, and damn, but she had heels, and seamed stockings, too.

'Like it?' she asked, and he grabbed her, pulled her carefully against his chest, let her feel his heartbeat. He gave a low growl, teeth bared in a smile, and kept his arms around her waist, hands tucked into the small of her back. Their eyes locked, and Glynn fluttered lashes, eyes painted smokey blue-black, a pout on blood red lips.

'I guess…that's a 'yes'?' she observed, laying her palm against his chest, fingertips touching his throat. Half a dozen thin silver bangles tinkled on her wrist as she did. As always, the sweet blend of her scent, lavender and roses, tickled his nose.

' Y' re a fine lookin' lad, yourself,' she complimented, running her palm down the lapels of his jacket. To distract himself from her touch, he cleared his throat, made an observation.

' 'Y 'r gonna freeze, in that,' he pointed out, eyes skimming her barely there wardrobe again, ' 's hardly above freezin,' outside. 'Y got a coat?' She snuggled against him, tucked both arms between their bodies, and replied, coyly,

'No, your job is t' keep me warm. Among other things.' He smiled, broadly, and chuckled,

'Well, 'll do 'm best, darlin'.' She giggled, said,

' I'm countin' on it. Ready 't go?' he shook his head, tightened his grip around her, said,

'Not 'till I get a proper kiss.' Glynn snacked her lips at him, warned, 'You'll be wearing my red,' and he rumbled,

'I so don' care,' and met her lips with his. Her response was relaxed and welcoming, burning with desire, which stoked his passion up a notch. Her arms slid around his shoulders, and he took the time to really taste how delicious she was.

She returned the favor.

Finally, they pulled apart, and he wondered if she was a little dizzy, because he certainly was. Her eyes were pools of night-blue, fringed in black, twinkling starlight.

'That was far from 'proper',' she observed, breath soft and quick against his lips. He wagged his eyebrows, and smiled broadly, asked,

' Complainin'?' and she shook her head, replied,

'Not 't all. But, y'd best wipe off the lipstick, before we go.'

Glynn was apparently a regular at 'The Raven'; the bouncer at the door motioned them to the front of the line as soon as he spotted her. They passed a few words, and smiles. Cal didn't miss the sly perusal he gave Glynn, the sparkle of lust in his eye, the open look of desire on his features. Cal shared a sharp glare with the fellow, who returned it, then laughed, waved them through.

The 'Raven' was already throbbing with noise, which they'd heard, well, felt, actually, from outside the building. Inside, the décor was Gothic Punk, dark-lit, and most of the crowd was dressed in either black leather, lace, or both. The band had it's warm-up music cranking, and the dance floor was surrounded by patrons eager to start partying. The bass drum was blazoned with the name 'Headless Horsemen'. Glynn headed straight for the bar, catching the eye of the fellow mixing drinks, who sported a neon-blue Mohawk, a studded leather collar, and multiple face-piercings. He gave a broad smile, pulled a bottle of Perrier from it's bed of ice, handed it and a glass of ice, to her.

'Been missin' ye, Glynn!' he said, with a fond grin.

'Fightin' the good fight, Ian,' she replied, and Ian nodded, understanding. Glynn laid her hand to Cal's shoulder, added,

'This is Cal…he's earned his stripes, too.' Ian's expression flashed respect.

'What'll 'y have, mate?' he asked Cal, loudly, to be heard above the music, and Cal shrugged,

'Th' same, fer now.' The bartender nodded, waving to someone across the room as he served up Cal's water. He leaned over to Glynn, winked, said,

'I cleared yer table, lass. 'N-joy.'

Cal followed Glynn to a booth, in the farthest corner, one of a dozen or so screened off in the front by a curtain of dangling plastic chains. She slipped through, slid a chair up to the table, and moved the small glass candleholder to the center so there was room for both of them to set their drinks. The cubby was dark and private, and had a good view of the entire room, while keeping the occupants screened off from close scrutiny.

Cal sat close beside her, studying her face in the bluish light. She smiled, broadly, pored her Perrier, and said,

'What?' He shook his head, admitted, with some surprise,

'Not exactly th' kinda place I pictured you in.' She smiled, took a sip of her water.

' 'M full of surprises,' she informed him, with a wink. 'Love this place…love this band. They play mostly American music.' Cal nodded, surveyed the crowd, then observed, with a wince,

' Jus' don' expect t see me in th' pit, luv.' Glynn laughed, grew suddenly serious.

' I wouldn't want you 't even try it, Cal,' she told him, laid a gentle hand to his arm. 'I'm just getting you put back together, as it is, without you goin' off into some crazy mosh-pit.'

The band was extremely loud, and very good. Glynn managed to wait until the third or fourth song before coercing Cal onto the floor to dance to a pair of Van Halen tunes. Watching her move took Cal's breath away; she was completely uninhibited, and, lost in the joy of the music, absolutely unaware of the effect she was having on him. Or, if she was, she knew damn well how to hide it. After half a dozen songs, Cal clearly needed a break. His ribs were aching, and he was definitely feeling the effects of his recent face-first encounter with the street. Glynn immediately noticed the pained look on his face, and whisked off the floor to follow him back to their table, where she downed the last of her water, and waved a waitress over to order more.

Cal ordered scotch, to go along with his Perrier.

While they waited, she leaned in close, touched his chin with the back of her fingers, features crinkled with concern.

' 'M sorry, Cal, 'r you all right? 'Y want 't go?' Cal shook his head, took her fingers into his, to kiss the tips.

'Nay, luv,' he said, with a gentle smile, ' 'M fine. You….'r SO fine. I could watch 'y dance…all night.' Glynn returned the smile, said, teasingly, running a finger across his lips,

'Well, it won't be all night, I promise.'

The scotch gave Cal his second wind, and he managed to navigate several more spine-bending songs, mostly by keeping his eyes on Glynn. She flirted with him shamelessly, taunted, danced so close, but not quite touching. He was completely at her mercy, and he knew it. Finally, he was done in, and clearly needed to just sit down for a few songs. Glynn was already following him off the floor when the singer announced,

'Right, then, people…'y 're lookin' like ye need a break. Let's slow it down, let 'y get a cuddle from yer date, eh?' drawing laughter from the crowd. As the first few chords rang out, Glynn paused in her exit, looked back over her shoulder, groaned,

'Ooooh, I LOVE this song.' It was 'Breakdown,' by Tom Petty.

Cal read her disappointment and stopped, grasped her hand, pulled her toward him, back out onto the floor. She tried to protest, but he halted their retreat with a shake of his head. There was no way he was passing up this chance to get his hands on her. She relented, rested forearms on his shoulders, and moved into his embrace, his forearms on her shoulders. The music flowed across the floor, into them, moved their bodies into it's slow, sensual rhythm. They danced, an oasis of privacy in the crowd, kept together by the notes, and the darkness. She closed her eyes, and let him take command, trusted him to move them around the floor. Cal kept his eyes on her face as his hands slowly, carefully, lost their position on her shoulders and slid lower, a tantalizing touch across her back, then gliding along her ribs, coming to rest on her hips, subtle urgency. Almost imperceptively, he urged her closer, inch by inch, until their bodies touched, a sudden jolt, like electricity, in his chest. Did she feel it? He leaned close, brushed his cheek to hers, breath in her ear, quick and soft, hers released in a sigh.

'Breakdown, it's all right,' the singer crooned, 'It's all right.'

Cal reached up, took one of her hands into his, twined their fingers, and pulled their folded hands against his chest. Briefly, he paused, waited for her to open her eyes. She curled her free hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, caressed with gentle strokes, and allowed her eyes to melt into his. He leaned back close, nuzzled her ear with his lips, drawing a soft gasp from her; he chuckled, repeated the move, tickled with his tongue. Her breast brushed the back of his hand, and beneath where his fingertips lay against her wrist, he felt her heartbeat surge, right along with his. He pressed hot kisses to her throat, along the line of her jaw, tantalizingly slow, now daring to taste her pulse. It was quick, and strong.

When their lips finally met, it began with tender-sweet and gentle caresses, but quickly gave way to fierce possession. Slow, deep, lingering kisses, shared without reservation. The music blurred away into unreality, a smoky backdrop to the desire surging between them.

Casually, confidently, Cal pulled her hips tight to his, drew back enough to watch her response from beneath half-lidded eyes, and was thrilled with the intensity of her response. Her free hand knotted into his shoulder, her head tipped back; Cal slid his hand away from her hips and into her hair, twined fingers in, and pulled her back to his hungry lips. She tasted sweeter than anything he could remember.

Suddenly, the music crashed back into mosh-pit mode, breaking them apart. Glynn, eyes soft and welcoming, allowed Cal to lead her off the floor by the hand, back to the indigo darkness which surrounded their table. A waitress hurried over, refreshed their drinks, disappeared. Cal found he couldn't take his eyes off Glynn's face, reading the fascinating swirl of emotions she showed. He was so caught up in watching he nearly jumped when she rested one of her shoeless feet on his lap. It was hot.

' My feet are tired,' she told him, coyly, and, after a moment, he dropped his palm to her ankle, circled it with his fingers. Damn, she had a small ankle, he thought, tracing around it, before sliding slowly up the inside of her calf. He watched carefully for any clue that she wanted him to stop, but she tucked her foot tight against him, and teased with her toes. Her eyed sparkled, mischievously, and she sipped her water, smiled invitingly, driving him mad. She leaned close, to be heard over the music, and he put his ear close.

''S very dark here, d' ye notice?' she said, and he nodded, wondering what she was about. She licked her lips, glanced at the candle, flickering next to them.

'Cept for this candle, eh?' About then, his wandering hand had made it to her thigh, and the realization that she was wearing garters smacked his desire straight into lust. It was like a punch in the chest, and grabbed his breath away, forced him to work for the next one. She saw it, sat down her glass. Pulled the candle close, pursed perfect lips, and puffed it into oblivion. Bathed in blue-smudged shadows, she shifted her gaze, toward the dance floor, continued,

' Y can't see anything, in here, now.'

'Y 're sure?' Cal returned, realizing he could actually see quite clearly; then understood it was because his vision was used to the dark. He carefully lowered her foot, dragged her stool over so she was trapped between his thighs. She nodded, laid a hand against the back of his neck, and her gaze beckoned like a beacon.

'M sure, love,' she sighed, raising one leg to drape her thigh across his, pulling the breath right out of him, again. He brought her face close to his, looking for any trace of hesitation, but saw none. She exhaled, replacing his lost breaths with hers. He allowed his left hand to fall back to her thigh, searching her eyes, sinking into their sapphire spell. Slid her already brief skirt up higher, out of the way. Brow furrowed, his kissed her, sharply, fiercely, snarled the hair at the nape of her neck into his other fist, and demanded, directly in her ear,

'Y want it, like this?' Glynn wound one hand into his jacket at the shoulders, dropped the other to his lap, and moaned a surrender against his cheek,

'Jus' like this,' and sought his lips with hers.

Out on the dance floor, the crowds continued to dance, lost in their own seductions, and the music thundered, drowning out any sounds coming from the dark-shrouded table in the corner.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

'Lightman, what the Hell do you think you're doin'?'

Cal jerked around to meet the irritated glare of FBI Agent Ben Reynolds. Behind him, he heard Loker tap the keyboard, hoped it was because he was blanking the screen from Reynolds' sharp eyes. Cal matched his glare, added a bit of a snarl on his lips, but didn't reply. Hands on his hips, Reynolds stabbed an accusing finger at the two men, growled,

'Don't act like you don't know what I'm talkin' about. You either, Loker.' He shifted his attention to Loker, who swiveled his chair around, raised his eyebrows, twisted his lips into a lopsided grin, shrugged, and spread his palms as if confused. Behind him, the monitor was displaying the Lightman Group screensaver logo. Reynolds huffed angrily, and shook his head.

'My boss is on my ass about this little 'project' of yours…'

'Why?' Cal snapped, advancing into Reynolds' space. It was a tactic that almost always intimidated whoever he used it on; but knew before he even did it that it wouldn't faze Ben. Reynolds held his ground and looked down at Cal, face twisted into an expression of complete annoyance.

'C'mon, Cal…give it up, all right? Whatever this thing is you have against the IRA, or MI6, or whoever else. It's ancient history.'

'Apparently not,' Cal shot back, getting right up in Reynolds' face, 'else nobody'd care, eh?' Ben's expression faltered, and it was Cal's turn to shove his finger in Ben's face, his eyes blazing sharp as a bared dagger.

'Ah, right there, mate. That…RIGHT there…tells me otherwise.' Ben shifted his weight, shook his head, and sighed.

'Look, I understand. There's some old scores to settle.'

'No, 'Y do NOT understand, right?' Cal bellowed, furiously, forcing his way into Reynolds space, this time making him move back a step. 'There's no way 'y can possibly know….what….' His anger fell away, as Cal realized he wouldn't, or couldn't, put words to the feelings that were driving him. His expression fell, and his shoulders slumped, but he didn't retreat, and the clench of his jaw warned he was in no way giving up his fight. Ben had realized before he'd even begun that it was pointless to confront Lightman, but he'd done it anyway, and now he decided to explain why. He shook his head, eyes closed, said

'I'm just warning you, OK? You are messing with the dirty laundry of some heavy-duty Operatives.'

'Operatives?' Cal shot back, catching his use of the present

tense, stepping forward again, 'Not, EX- Operatives? What's that about, then?' Ben ground his teeth, frustrated, decided to just stop talking before Cal got him to say something else he shouldn't. Cal saw him give up, and chided,

''Y should know better by now, Reynolds, than 't think 'M gonna give up wi' out th' truth.'

'Even if it kills you,' Ben shot back. Cal's face grew hard, and he nodded,

'Even if 't kills me.' Ben glance at Loker, who was carefully controlling his face, and clearly working very hard to keep his own mouth shut. Reynolds shook his head, again, and sighed, turned to leave. Said, over his shoulder,

'Just…just watch your back, alright?'

'Don' worry 'bout that, mate. I learned that lesson a long time ago.'

Reynolds muttered something unintelligible, but most likely very rude, and left, closing the door behind him.

Cal looked back to Loker, who breathed out a long sigh, and gave a shake to clear his head, then turned back and tapped his monitor awake, as if nothing had happened.

'All right. Back to these guys, Liam and Hamish. Both these guys answered directly to Collin, who took some real heat, by the way, when all this went down. When I ran through these files, I found no pix, no video, nothing, or nearly nothing, specific on either Liam or Hamish. That is SO weird for people so involved in high-end Government Ops. They like having all that anal-retentive stuff, for some odd reason. But, I want you to look, I mean REALLY look, at this photo you gave me.'

Loker tapped, and the photo Cal had shown Gillian flashed up.

Him, Murphy, and Glynn, clowning around, playing cards at the Inn. All their faces were relaxed, smiling, the mirroring expressions shared by good friends. In the background, Hamish watched; Cal squinted, trying to read his expression. He frowned, leaned closer toward the monitor. Damn, he needed his glasses. Loker saw him squinting, zoomed in on Hamish, enhanced the image, and sat back, keeping silent, to let Cal see what it was he'd spotted in the photo.

Cal forced himself to detach from his emotional ties to the picture, and tried to decipher what he saw without allowing any preconceived judgments cloud his read.

Resentment. He saw resentment. He stood up straight, confused and irritated. How had he missed this before? He looked again, deeper, and there it was; disgust. Loker was nodding, confirmation, and Cal snapped,

'Put up th' other photos I gave 'y.' Loker complied, and Cal put each of the other three which had caught an image of Hamish to the same non-emotional scrutiny. It was there, as clear as day, in every shot, that same resentment, and disgust, always directed toward Cal,

or his comrades.

'Damn,' Cal said, under his breath, and turned to Loker, who was trying, unsuccessfully, to suppress a very self-satisfied smile.

'Tha's good work, Loker,' Cal admitted, angry with himself for not seeing the truth when it had been right in front of him from the very beginning. Loker continued, expounding on his proof, and his follow-up theory.

'Liam went missing about two weeks before the sting operation, right?' Cal nodded, reminded,

' 'e's been missin', since, accordin' to the files.' Loker's head bobbed, agreement, suggested,

'Collin inferred in his report that it's possibly because he was involved in blowing you guys' cover, but who knows? ' Cal grumbled, angrily, but offered no protest beyond that and a furious scowl. Loker took that as permission to continue.

' The photos, and the rest of the evidence points to Hamish as the one who actually ratted you all out. He obviously had an escape plan already in place. Your entire team had been compromised, and there were, what, three, four support teams on site? No one on the ground was able to get out of Belfast, that night, not unless they were air-lifted,…but Hamish managed to. The 'official' report says he stole a Jeep. I say, 'Bull'. They let him go.'

'Hamish sold us out, t' save his own ass,' Cal said, stating the obvious, his tone conveying the betrayal he felt.

'Exactly what I figure,' Loker nodded, agreement, 'That was his 'get out of Belfast free' card. The real question is, were Liam and Hamish working together, was Hamish purely out on his own, or was

the entire thing sanctioned by someone higher-up? Who would want that operation to fail?' Cal stood, frozen, staring silently at the images on the screen, for several long moments, and Loker watched an amazing parade of emotions flash across his features, faster then he could name them.

'What did he have against you, Cal?' Loker asked, quietly. 'What if there was nothing more to this, than Hamish had it in for you?'

Cal snapped his attention to Loker, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, replied, truthfully,

' Damned if I know, Loker.' Loker sighed, shook his head.

'If all this was happening today, you wouldn't miss them. I mean, you wouldn't make the same mistakes…you've got the years of experience behind you, now,' Loker said, carefully, an effort to ease some of the guilt and grief so clearly displayed on Cal's features. Cal gave Loker a sharp glance, jaw tight, and Loker saw that what he'd just said didn't matter. Cal wasn't going to forgive his own mistakes. He never did. Loker pursed his lips, and added one final straw to the

stack.

'Here's something else interesting: off the list of possible suspects you gave me to flag, only one person on it felt the sudden urge to get on a plane for the U S of A, the day we got all those files from Collin.'

'Hamish,' Cal snarled, without hesitation, and Loker nodded.

'You think he found out what you were doing?'

' Absolutely.' Cal snapped, 'N if I try 'n finger him, he'll come after me.'

'He's gonna find that out, how?' Loker asked, hesitantly, and Cal's eyes narrowed. Loker could see plans racing through Cal's mind as he said,

' 'M gonna tell 'im. An' WE…are gonna catch 'im. ' Loker winced, bit his lip, said,

'I'm not gonna like this, am I?' Cal gave him a wild, fierce grin, and laughed like a madman,

'Prob'ly not. Clear that screen, 'n let's go.'

Glynn dragged Cal through the doorway, into the kitchen of Liam's flat, hands locked to his lapels, eyes sparkling with devilish glee. Cal put up only mild resistance, his arms wrapped around her waist. They pushed the door shut behind them, and Cal stole a kiss as she flipped on the lights.

'Y ready for round two?' she wondered, against his ear, and he grabbed her tightly against him.

' 'Round two', eh? ' Cal rumbled, reminded, 'When 'y could barely walk after round one?' Glynn squealed and blushed, as she kicked off her shoes.

'Heathen wench,' Cal accused, softly, Havin' yer way wi' me.' Smile fading , he lifted a hand to her hair, and did something he'd wanted to do since they first met; he began pulling out the silver hair clips, one by one. Glynn blinked, held very still, except for her fingers, which wove themselves into Cal's hair, at the base of his neck.

'I did warn ye, if 'y remember,' she returned, gently, as her hair spilled free, one wave at a time. Cal's face grew thoughtful, and he nodded, admitted,

'Aye, I recall some chat 'bout 'y not goin' easy on me.' When her hair had been loosed, Cal ran his fingers through her silky tresses, lost in reverie. Glynn's expression was puzzled, and she cupped his face with one hand, sighed,

'Say whatever it is you're thinking, Cal.' He scowled, pursed his

lips, as he searched for the best way to phrase what he wanted to say. He kept his eyes on his fingers, asked, tone hard,

'Am I gonna hafta worry about some ex-lover comin' after me?' Glynn stiffened, and Cal met her eyes. Saw anger as she said,

'What are you talking about?'

'Liam. There's obviously somethin b'tween you two.' Glynn's anger dissipated and she shrieked a short laugh, covered her mouth with one hand. Cal wasn't amused, and was confused by her reaction.

' Are 'y jealous?' she prodded, teasingly, and he shot back, a bit too quickly,

'No.' Made a 'well, that was a lie' face, admitted, 'Yes. But, I don' wanna get the crap beat outta me, either. This IS his place, after all.'

'Don't be jealous, love….' Glynn assured him, gently, then gave a small smile and leaned close to his ear, whispered the secret,

'He's my Uncle.' Cal drew back, sharply; suddenly realized the emotion he'd seen them sharing was familial affection. No wonder he hadn't recognized it, having had no personal experience with such closeness in his own dysfunctional family life. It hurt, made him angry, and relieved, all at the same time.

Glynn, her features troubled, cradled his face in her hands. Meeting her gaze, he saw compassion, and sorrow. She understood…how, he had no idea. It was one of the mysteries of women, how your past could be laid bare to them, even without ever speaking a word. After a few moments, she pulled his lips close, pressed a tender kiss to them, then another, as her hands moved to push him free of his suit jacket. He shrugged, helped the jacket to the

floor. As Glynn's hands slid inside his shirt, sending buttons flying, rattling across the floor, Cal lunged forward, folded her tightly against him, spun so he, and not Glynn, would be the one to take the impact when they slammed up against the wall. Turns out, they hit harder than he'd expected. As their bodies jarred against the unyielding surface, it jolted a sharp gasp of pain from Cal.

'M sorry,' Glynn murmured, immediately, made as if she would leave him go, ' I didn't mean 't hurt you.' Cal's hands slid down, lifted her so tightly against him it took his breath away.

''But, I want 'y to,' he groaned against her throat, a heady mix of pain and pleasure. 'Y said 'y wouldn't go easy on me…so, don't.' Glynn pulled away enough to lock her gaze to his, eyes glittering indigo pools of desire. For several seconds she looked at him, gauging how truthful his last plea had been. Then she smiled, slowly, and eased back into his embrace.

'All right, then, darlin',' she murmured, and brought her lips to meet his.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Cal leaned a bit closer to the mirror, turned his cheek to trim along his jaw line, trying to finish up before the glass fogged over completely, again. Behind him, the shower shut off, and he heard Glynn rustle for her towels. He tried to get a peek in the mirror, but the glass was too hazy to let him get a good look. Ah, well, he sighed, it wasn't as if he hadn't done plenty of looking earlier that morning. He smiled, rinsed his razor, and laid it on the counter top, splashed his face and patted away the last of the shaving cream. Wished the shower had been just a little larger, so they could've shared…he sincerely hoped that he could enjoy that particular indulgence sometime in the very near future.

'Hey! Mirror hog!' Glynn accused, from behind. Cal waved his toweled tush tauntingly at her, and gave a short 'Ha!' of victory.

Glynn chuckled and stripped away the towel he had wrapped around his waist, leaving nothing between them, and pressed up against his back, arms around his chest, careful not to squeeze too hard. She was still warm and damp from the shower, and smelled like a rose garden

in the afternoon sun. Cal smiled, and leaned forward to wipe steam from the mirror so he could see her face, peering over his shoulder. She looked like a displaced selki, with her hair all down in damp waves, framing her face. Her smile was contented, and he returned it.

'Sorry about your back' she said, softly, pulling one hand away, to gently touch the scratches she'd put there, but he laughed, admitted,

' 'V lost blood b'fore, lass, but never enjoyed it so much.' She growled, bit him lightly on the neck. Cal spun, snugged her tightly into his embrace before she could escape. Not as if she wanted to. Glynn settled comfortably against him, content just to look into his eyes. Cal traced a finger down her cheek, tucked hair behind her ear, and sighed.

'Hungry?' Glynn asked, after a few moments, and Cal suddenly realized it had been a very long time since they'd eaten.

'Famished, luv,' he admitted, and Glynn agreed,

'Me, too. Put some pants on, so we can go eat.'

'M happy 't dine jus' like this,' Cal suggested, wagging his eyebrows at her, and Glynn laughed, tapped him on the tip of his nose with a chiding finger.

'I'd say we could, but I think Liam might be a bit put off.' Cal straightened abruptly, echoed,

'Liam?' Glynn nodded, informed,

'You didn't hear him come in, early this morning?' Cal shook his

head, expression pained, realizing things had been pretty noisy in Glynn's bedroom the past couple hours. Glynn saw his discomfiture, and laughed. Obviously, it didn't bother her one bit. She gave him a lingering kiss, then reluctantly moved from his embrace to gather up some fresh clothes, said,

'I think he's cooking us brunch.'

Cal cast a look of chagrin around the living room as he followed Glynn; Liam had apparently gathered up the clothes he and Glynn had left behind on their way to her bedroom, and laid them across the back of the couch. A broom leaned against the kitchen wall, accompanied by a dustpan containing the buttons Glynn had stripped from his shirt.

As he rounded the corner into the kitchen, Glynn was giving Liam a big hug, which he returned, then turned a sharp eye on Cal. Cal winced, shuffled, and shrugged, half-expecting a serious tongue lashing, or worse. When Liam just smiled knowingly and turned back to the stove to stir whatever he was cooking, Cal loosed a sigh, realizing he'd been holding his breath. Glynn tossed him a sly look over her shoulder as she reached to gather plates from the cupboard.

'Didn't expect you back so soon,' she said, with a glance at Liam. He chuckled, glanced at the dustpan of buttons, replied,

'Obviously not.' She flushed, briefly, then handed the plates to Cal to carry to the table.

Liam was a competent cook, and Cal was really hungry, so he focused on eating while allowing Liam and Glynn to chat it up with small talk. When the table was cleared, and tea brewed, Liam's expression darkened, he drew a long, deep breath, and looked directly at Cal. Without preamble, he got straight to it.

' I've been 't Operations, the past few days. Turns out, this development with Paderick tryin' 't kill you works 't our advantage. It seals your cover. They want t' send 'y all out, set 'y up as a major player. Have 'y arrange multiple consecutive strikes, draw all the stragglers in. It's big time, Cal. It'll enable us to bring half a dozen radical factions into one place, at one time, so we can round 'em all up. We've an ideal set-up that can be pulled together for St. Patrick's Day.'

Cal stared at Liam in stunned silence a few seconds, then set his teacup down so he could properly deal with what Liam had just said. He checked Glynns' expression, which he was pretty sure mirrored his own; surprise and uncertainty. Liams' gaze flicked between the two, his own features carefully neutral.

' All you'd have 't do is pass on the information I'll give ye; the rest 'll be handled by others.' Cal scowled at the obvious lie. It was

never that simple. Information was power; and this type of power was life and death, about sacrificing a few along the way as a means to an end. He didn't have to say that; all three of them already knew it.

''m not going to lie. If 'y decide 't go back in, t's goin 't get very, very dangerous,' Liam admitted, aloud, but didn't apologize for what he was asking Cal to do. He was a soldier, and took his duty seriously. He ground his jaw tight, eyes hard, and demanded, sharply,

' Are 'y in?' Cal glared back, rapidly weighing options in his mind. Slanted a hard gaze at Liam, asked,

'If I say 'yes', will that be it? I mean, 'm out, gone home, after?'

'Absolutely, if that's what ye want.'

'What if I say 'no'?' Cal shot back. Liam stiffened, slightly, and squared his shoulders, before shrugging them.

'We'll find another way. This lot needs 't be off the street by St. Paddy's.' Cal studied Liams' face closely, while guarding his own expression carefully, and asked,

'What happens t' Glynn?' Liam straightened, glanced her way, answered,

'She stays in, with you, if that's what she wants.'

'I want,' Glynn replied, 'and, when Cal leaves, I leave with him.' She said it without hesitation, her gaze meeting Cal's. In it, he read fear, but also determination. Like her Uncle, she'd been a soldier for a long time, even if Cal hadn't. If Liam was surprised by her words, he hid it well.

Glynn gave Cal a barely perceptible nod, and he understood.

'Right, then. Guess 'm in,' Cal muttered. Liam smiled, grimly, and stood, laid a hand to Cal's shoulder. 'I'll count on you to be lookin' after my niece.' He gathered his dishes, and went into the kitchen, leaving Cal and Glynn alone. Glynn leaned over, her face troubled as she looked at him.

'Don't do this, if you don't want to, Cal. I won't think any less of you.' Cal, brow furrowed, looked up from glaring at the tabletop, and laid his hand to hers, gripped it tightly. Nodded, said quietly,

' I know, luv,' then brought her hand to his lips for a tender kiss. Glynn smiled, slid her chair closer, said, a teasing tone,

'Well, if you're 't look out for me, guess you'll need to stay close.' Cal met her mischievous grin with a confused expression, so she clarified,

' Be a lot easier to keep an eye on me if 'y were 't move up 't my house, right?' It was Cal's turn to straighten, and he took her hand in both of his, caught completely off guard by her words. She laughed, as he stammered,

'Oh, aye? Really? 'y 'r askin'….'

' You 't move in with me? Aye. Unless 'y prefer to stay at the

Inn…' her face wilted. It was mock dismay; she knew damn well what he preferred. Cal's face lit up with pure joy. He grasped her face with both hands and kissed her, half a dozen small 'smacks', interspersed with her giggles.

'Heathen wench,' he accused, with a growly smile.

'Like you'd have it any other way,' she told him, with a brilliant grin.

Torres wandered into Cal's inner office, glaring at the stacks of paperwork over the rim of her coffee cup. She sighed, resigned to her fate; another miserable day, slogging through the old files, chasing ghosts. She tossed a quick glance around, looking for Loker, scowled deeply when she realized he was nowhere in sight. She muttered irritably, under her breath, as she cleared out a small spot for her things. She was just sitting her coffee down when Cal's voice jolted from across the room,

'Oi! Torres!' She jumped, surprised, was immediately happy the cup had a tight lid, or she'd be wearing it's contents. Annoyed, she turned toward her boss, whose expression clearly said he didn't care how she felt. He was still wearing yesterdays' clothes, so he'd obviously spent another night here. Go figure, she seethed, quietly.

'With me. Fosters' office,' Cal ordered, as he spun on his heel, and left the room. After a few seconds, Torres followed, cup tightly in hand. As she came through the door into Fosters' office, Cal glanced

back over his shoulder at her, said, shortly,

'Close the door.'

Gillian was seated at her desk, her expression as confused as Torres'. Cal held his place between the two, gestured to their 'what is going on?' faces, and dialed his phone.

'Collin, Cal. Yeah, 've got yer man.' Torres and Foster exchanged startled glances, but kept quiet, listening to Cal's end of the conversation. It was easy enough to imagine the responses of the man on the other end of the call.

' Yeah, it's Hamish O'Rourke.' Pause. 'No, no question, 't was him.' Cal threw a glance at both girls to gauge their reactions to what he was saying.

'Yeah, 've got evidence...but I wanted 't give 'y a day 't bring him in b' fore I turned in my report or alerted any other agencies. He's your man, right? Consider it a professional courtesy, for all your help.' The girls traded looks, not happy with that choice. Cal's own voice grew angry with the next words,

' He's responsible for the deaths of multiple undercover

Operatives, Collin…includin m' friends. He's a bloody damn traitor, 'N as much as I'd like 't see MI6 have at 'im, that's not how I work. 'L give ya twenty four hours b' fore I turn in my report.' Cal nodded, listening, finally replied, with a trace of anger, ' Yeah, well, you're welcome,' and tapped his phone off.

He leveled glances between the women, clearing waiting for the protests and questions to begin. As expected, Torres was first to let go. Irritation colored her words as she asked, briefly, accusingly,

'Where's Loker?'

'He worked all night 't get this straightened out. Sent 'im home.' Torres narrowed a sharp eye at him, tilted her head in confusion. There was some type of lie in what he'd just told her, but she couldn't quite figure out what it was. She also knew it was pointless to call him on it. Plus; Cal, being human, by sending Loker home? Get real, she thought.

' 'Professional courtesy'?' Gillian sniped, 'Since when?' Cal shot her a glare, but refused to reply to that. His own face wearing an annoyed scowl, he told them,

'Look, neither one 'o you has kept it a secret that y' haven't been at all happy wi' this…so, now 's finished. Get over it.' Gillian, her hands fists as they lay on her desk, shook her head. She tried, without success, to keep her face clear as she challenged,

'No, it's not, Cal. You won't just turn over this guy, Hamish, not without a fight, not after all this. You want a shot at him, admit it.' Cal shifted under her perceptive glare, tightened his jaw, warned,

'Leave it go, Foster.' A clear indicator of how inflexible he was

going to be; reverting to calling her by her last name. 'I turned 'im in, that's th' end of it.' Gillian was shaking her head, angrily, knowing she was right and denying his statement. Torres was wearing the same expression.

'What are you doing?' Gillian demanded, and Cal's face closed up like a book. He pointed a finger at her, snapped, loudly,

' 'S done with.' He straightened, an air of finality; he was clearly done discussing it. He met her furious eyes, said flatly,

' 'V paperwork 't do, in my office. Torres.' He turned to her, ignored her keen gaze as he gestured for her to follow him. He did toss a final glance toward Gillian, who made sure he saw just how angry she was before he left the room. He made just as sure that she saw how much he didn't care.

Cal brought Torres back to the chaos of papers in his inner office, gestured at it, and told her,

'Your job is 't organize an' pack all this back up.' Torres reared back in anger, protested,

'Me? Why isn't Loker here to help?' Cal set his feet and leaned

close to her, voice low with anger.

'Loker has been b' hind me wi' this, all th' way. He's busted his ass 't help me. You, on th' other hand, have been mutinous, every step of th' way.' Torres chewed her lip, knowing it was true. Cal saw her admit it, and headed toward his main office, said, with a sweep of his arm,

'Have at it, then.' His office door closed, and she heard him lock it behind him. With a scowl, she blew a raspberry at the closed door, realizing she was behaving like a kid having a tantrum, but it made her feel better. After a few seconds, she sighed, hand on hip, shook her head. Took a swallow of her coffee, set it down, and tried to figure out where to start.

On the other side of the door, Cal heaved a shaky sigh, leaned his forehead against the door. He could practically see Torres sticking her tongue out on the other side, and decided he just didn't care at the moment. Straightening, he pulled Loker's number up, texted a single word; 'Ready?', hit send. A few seconds ticked by, and a 'ping' alerted Cal to his reply.

'Ready.'

Cal closed his eyes, fear suddenly gripping his chest. Then he squared his shoulders, told himself he was doing what he had to do, and that it would all work out; then tried to believe his own lie. He stepped over to his desk, surveyed the orderly line-up of documents and photographs spread across its surface. Took a few seconds,

shuffled through a couple, then lifted two from the queue to examine closely, features uncertain. He blinked, willing his eyes to stay clear, as he read the old, stained documents; decided quickly to return them to their space in the lineup. He glanced at his watch, made a face; it was a long time before the day was over. He took a second, set an alarm on his phone, then wandered over to his couch and laid down. Throwing his forearm over his eyes, the other hand, clutching his cell phone, propped on his chest, he drifted into a restless sleep.


	16. Chapter 15

Thanks for all your patience! Working fivr jobs just to eat really cuts in to the story writing time. Hope this was worth the wait, and i'll try to get the next chapter up a LOT faster! Please r&r...^

Chapter Fifteen

Torres heaved a sigh, pushed hair out of her tired eyes, glanced at her watch; 10 PM!… then flopped down into one of the chairs with an exaggerated groan. Another evening, gone, she thought, bitterly. Made a face, admitted she could have left any time after Cal had; he'd made a very obvious exit, right at 6 PM. He'd also made a point of locking his office, and being certain she saw it. Actually, she just wanted to get all this over and done with, move on to a REAL case, not irrelevant ancient history. She was totally pissed at Loker, for bailing on the clean-up, and even more pissed at Lightman for sanctioning it. What that was all about, she had no idea, but, she'd made up her mind to make Loker's next few days completely miserable. Contemplating that prospect brought a smile to her face, and, as she scanned the results of her days' efforts, she gave a satisfied nod. More than half the files had been boxed, most of the rest had been stacked, and only needed to be re-ordered before she could box those, as well. She sighed, again, glanced around to spot where she'd set her purse after paying for supper. Located it, just out of arms' reach, on an end table. Stood, and tried to save a few steps by leaning across a somewhat precariously balanced stack of files for it rather than walk around. She nearly had it in hand when the strap suddenly decided to break, allowing the heavy satchel to crash into the neatly ordered stack of papers. She lunged for it, tried to prevent disaster, but failed; her purse knocked the stack of files, made it into an avalanche, spilled it into a long scatter across the floor.

'Dammit!' she barked, then ran fingers through her hair, other hand on her hip. She was SO tempted to just grab her purse and split, leave it for tomorrow…..

'Oohhhhh, crap,' she mumbled, heaved a deep sigh. Retrieved her purse from the now not so orderly pile of papers, set it on the chair, and knelt to begin corralling the worst of the mess. As she shuffled the stacks back together, she realized that it wasn't as bad as it looked, that it was going to be really easy to get it all back under control. She was just rounding up the furthest of the loose sheets, when she spotted one that had flown way out; it's edge was barely visible, sticking out from under the copier. She crawled a couple feet, jerked the paper free, barely glancing at it as she went to toss it to the top of her freshly organized stack. Then she froze, stood, picked it back up, scowling at the photograph. She blinked, sharply, as she realized she had never seen this particular picture, before this moment. Sucked in a quick gasp of surprise as she recognized the two men. Eyes widening in horror, she flashed a glance at her watch, then bolted from the room, praying that Gillian was still in her office.

Gillian was just reaching to turn off her desk lamp when Torres blasted through her open doorway like a torpedo, attention riveted on the paper in her hand. Gillian read the swirl of emotions on her face, stood, frowning, as she asked,

'What's wrong?' Torres came around to stand beside her, shoved the picture at her as if it was on fire. Confused, Gillian took it, wondering what about it was so upsetting to Torres.

'Look at this,' Torres said, breathlessly, 'I found it, underneath the copier,' and Gillian did, nodded. She recognized the men, even though the picture seemed a bit blurry, as if someone hadn't had much time to get the shot.

'It's Hamish, and Collin,' she confirmed, still not certain why the picture was a problem. Torres jabbed the photo with her finger, said,

'Collin is giving Hamish a gun.' Brow twisted, still studying the picture, Gillian identified the secretive body language of the men, which was odd, but said, by way of explanation,

'Collin was Hamish's Commander…he could have done that.'

'No, no, no..…Look at the DATE,' Torres insisted, tapping the upper corner of the paper, and digging into her pocket, looking for her phone. 'I think it must've gotten blown off the holder, as soon as it came in, 'cause I never saw it, until just now.' Gillians' eyes went wide as she saw today's date stamped on the picture.

'Oh, my God,' she breathed, finally understanding. This picture wasn't past history; someone had snapped it that morning, after Cal had called his findings in to Collin. Whoever it was had faxed it to Cal, no doubt as a warning.

A warning that Cal had apparently never received.

'Collin knew, he had to know, that Cal would figure this all out,' Gillian blurted out. Torres was nodding, punching buttons on her phone as fast as her fingers could move.

''M calling Reynolds,' she told Foster, phone tight to her ear. Both women understood that Collin had brought Hamish in to silence Cal, and that it might already be too late.

Gillian grabbed her own phone, hit 1, Cal's speed dial number.

It went straight to voice mail.

'Reynolds!' Torres yelled into her phone, jerking Fosters' attention to her.

' You gotta find Lightman, he's in big…..' Torres face screwed into a mask of distress as her tirade was cut short by Reynolds' reply.

'You're where…?'

She froze a few seconds, listening, before stuttering,

'Wh…What…whattaya mean, the ambulances are on the way?' Foster was already grabbing her purse and keys, Torres hot on her heels as both women headed out the door.

'Forget it, Reynolds…we're coming there!' Torres snapped, and disconnected. She met Fosters' panicked gaze, said shortly,

'Lightman's house.'

Cal hated crime scenes, especially after dark. Bits of truth, revealed and concealed, in the erratic pulse of red and blue lights, flashing across the front lawn of his house. Like the twist of pain on Loker's features as the EMT's in the other ambulance worked on his injuries. The sharp angles of rage on Reynold's face as he argued with his superiors on the phone; an argument he was clearly loosing. The tall man, standing alongside Reynolds, his bearded face calm and unrevealing as he listened to his tirade. The media whores, with cameras and microphones in hand, clustered behind the garish yellow tape, like crows on a roadside, waiting for traffic to clear so they could pick the carcass lying in the center lane.

All the dark suits, representing several Government agencies, deliberately canvassing and securing the scene with what they thought to be blank expressions.

The expression that hurt him most was the one on Gillians' face as she tumbled out of her car, leaving the door hanging open, eyes wide with fear as she saw the Coroners' vans, the body bags on gurneys, but not him or Loker. She ran her hand through her hair, her eyes meeting Torres' in despair. He wanted to call to her, but the women were clear across the yard, blockaded by the noise and chaos.

A sharp, burning sting across Cal's forehead pulled his attention away from his girls, and he yelped,

'Hey-YOW!' jerked away, and glared at the EMT who was swabbing the gash above his right eye. She had sharp green eyes, auburn hair pulled away from her face into an orderly braid. Her name tag read 'MacLeod'. She ignored his harsh scowl, said shortly,

'You need stitches. Off to the Hospital.' Cal shook his head, bluntly refused,

'Do it here.' She narrowed her eyes at him, turned attention to gathering some supplies from her kit, warned,

'Then, sit still, or I'll send you off.' She came around with a syringe in hand, said,

'Pretend your back in Belfast. That should help.' Cal left off trying to keep his eyes on Gillian, and locked his full attention on the woman. Her attractive features were perfectly blank, giving nothing away; a taught skill, and not one an EMT would have. A shiver of fear touched Cal's chest, and he asked, clearly,

'Do I know you?' At that, she gave him a cold smile, said, deliberately,

'Not yet.' His glance at the syringe in her hand was pointed, and she assured him,

'Local anesthetic, so I can stitch you up.' Her gaze led his across the short distance that separated them from Reynolds and the other man, who met Cal's questioning gaze with a nod of assurance. Cal accepted the affirmation, and allowed the woman to inject the numbing drug.

She was tugging the last stitch tight when Foster and Torres finally fought their way through the crowd to emerge at the ambulances. Relief overshadowed the anger on both their faces as they found their Boss and Loker still mostly intact.

'Oh, my God, Cal…what's going on? ' Gillian insisted, breathlessly, while Torres shifted her weight anxiously from foot to foot and swiped her hand through her hair.

'Shirt up,' the EMT ordered, unrolling a length of bandages as she ignored the two women. Cal made a face and complied, revealing

two nasty bruises, close above his heart, and pulling a fresh bout of anxiety from Gillian. In an annoyed tone, Cal suggested,

'M fine. Jus' broken ribs. Th' vest caught th' slugs. Why don' cha go check on Loker. 'e's never been shot b'fore.'

'Loker got SHOT?' Torres blurted out, spinning to look for him as Cal continued, slightly annoyed that Torres ignored the fact that he'd been shot, too.

'Bit rough th' first couple times, but after a few, y' get used t' it.' He winced as the bandages were drawn tight, admitted, with a grimace, and a shrug,

'Well, not really.'

'You knew I was gonna get shot, didn't you?' Loker's voice, colored with pain and annoyance, broke in, and he stepped close, wincing. He pretended not to notice the smile of relief on Torres' face, or the abrupt way she stopped herself from throwing herself at him for a giant hug.

Cal made a face, partly because the EMT was wrapping the bandages pretty tight, and partly because he felt just a bit guilty.

'I knew there was a possibility.' As all three of his companions shot him evil glares, he made a placating gesture, admitted,

' Well, ok, ok, a probability…look, I got y' a vest, right?' Cal flinched again, added, with a wry twist of his lips, 'Field work 's a bitch, Loker.' The EMT named MacLeod was unable to conceal a tiny smile, and, with a shake of her head, she gave Cal the nod to pull his shirt

back down. Torres, apparently just realizing what Cal had said a few moments previous, scowled, asked,

'How many times you been shot, Lightman?' Cal focused attention on re-adjusting his shirt, said, in a near mumble,

'D rather not think about 't.'

'Lightman!' Reynolds voice, sharp and loud with anger, broke into their conversation, as he came over, hands on hips. His face was twisted with frustration, and his gestures spoke louder than words just how pissed off he really was.

'Go see your man, before I kick his ass outta here.' he snapped, throwing a thumb over his shoulder toward the tall man who'd been standing quietly, waiting. The others turned to look at who Reynolds had indicated, and Gillian's mouth fell open.

'That…that's Liam O'Dweyer!' she blurted out, pointing, even as Reynolds shook his head, denial, lips tight over gritted teeth.

'No, it's not,' while everything about his expression said 'yes, it is.'

'Yes, yes it is! You can't possibly be letting him go! He's on the Watch List…'

'Dr. Foster', another voice cut in, firm, inflexible,' that is an Agent with deep cover in an associate Agency. In the spirit of co-operation, for his part in this evenings' events, he will be allowed to leave the scene, without any further questioning. There will be no further mention of his presence, verbally or in any written reports. Is that understood?' Gillian spun to face the owner of the voice, FBI Special Agent In Charge Bernard Dillon. His own expression reflected his disagreement with the decision, but he clearly had no say in it. Reynolds swayed, angrily, making no attempt to conceal his own frustration. Cal ignored them all, came to his feet, and made his way to Liam.

Liam smiled as Cal stepped close; his face was lined with age, and long hair, pulled back into a pony tail, was mostly grey. It made his features seem severe, unforgiving. Eyes, still sharp, met Cal's, followed by a fond smile. Cal nodded, said quietly,

'Thanks, mate,' extended his hand for a shake, which Liam returned.

'No problem, Cal, y' know that.' The two men stared in silence a few moments, before Liam asked,

'You'll be goin' t' see my brother, then?' Cal's eyes flinched away, to study his feet as he nodded.

' Aye, I think he deserves t' hear 't from me. I mean, 'is daughter died, for… ' Cal choked up, had to pause a few seconds to steady his voice, shoulders hunched defensively against his guilt and grief. Liam laid a comforting hand to Cal's shoulder, sighed, quietly,

' Y' need t' let it go, Cal. Y' know she'd want y' to.' Watching, unable to hear their words, Gillian and the others nearly gasped; Cal never allowed any one of them such familiarity. They all half-expected Cal to jerk away. When he didn't, but accepted the gesture, all three exchanged gazes of absolute confusion, wondering just who this man was to Cal.

After a breath or two, Cal brought his attention back to meet Liam's eyes. His features still held sorrow, but of a different kind.

'What should I tell 'im, 'bout you? 'Bout comin' in? Y' know 'e's gonna ask.' Liam just smiled, sadly, shook his head. Cal nodded, understanding, sighed,

'Aw'right, then. Guess tha's it.' Liam nodded, firmly. Cal sighed again, said,

' 'L have Loker take 'y back 't the office…. he kin edit what we caught on camera in a few minutes…y' can be sure the footage 'e's gonna share passes yer muster, right? ' Liam frowned, concern, but Cal answered the question before Liam was able to voice it.

' 'e's a good man, Liam. Y' kin trust 'im. He'll delete whate'er 'y tell 'im to, 'n none 'll be the wiser. ' L hang here, delay Dillon. Have Loker gimme a heads-up when I kin bring 'em in.' Liam nodded, acceptance, began to turn away, and Cal halted him with a gesture, and a pained expression.

'Don' tell 'im I said that, eh?' Liam shook his head, and, with a small smile, offered Cal a parting handshake.

' 'Till next time, Cal.' Cal hesitated, just a second, before taking the proffered hand, then motioned for Loker to join them, and passed on a few words of instruction.

Gillian, Rhea, Reynolds and Dillon gave Cal sharp glares as he rejoined them, and Gillian stabbed an accusing finger toward Loker as he and Liam faded into the night.

'What's THAT about, Cal?' Cal shuffled, shrugged.

'We …well, actually, Loker,…caught t'nights' performance on film. Loker's gonna preview it ' fer the Agent b'fore we 'r allowed 't see 't'.

Reynolds barked a sharp,

'Ha!', shook his head, snapped, accusingly,

'You mean edit it so it says what he wants it to say.' Cal glared, was ready to bite back, when Dillon broke in, irritably.

' The Special Undercover Agent has jurisdiction, Reynolds. We don't have to like it, but we do have to respect it.' Cal rocked back on his heels, gave Dillon a surprised look.

' Knew y'd be useful someday Ber-nard,' he drawled, insultingly, and Dillon's expression grew even more angry. With a brisk curse, he turned away from the group, pulling his phone out.

'Let me know when you're ready to go, Lightman,' he spat, shaking his head.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Gillian, Rhea, Ben and Bernard gathered expectantly in the lab as Loker keyed up the large screen monitor. Cal stood in front of them, shifting his weight anxiously, as he said, with a sharp glance at Loker,

'Ah, well, here 'y go, then…' then moved, hung back behind them all, so he was free to move around and monitor their expressions as they watched. Loker tapped a few keys, and the video flickered alight.

Cal's living room filled the screen, Cal just turning away from closing the curtains which covered the big picture window; as he came around to face the room, a man suddenly appeared in frame, gun pointed at Cal. Cal froze, raised his hands, defensively, and circled a bit to his right, allowing the camera to clearly identify the gun wielder to be Hamish O'Rourke. Older and heavier, but undoubtedly the same man. His features were twisted with rage and disgust as he advanced into the room.

'Hamish,' Cal acknowledged, carefully, flinching as Hamish jerked the weapon toward him, a threatening gesture. He bared his teeth, a mocking grin, then spat at Cal's feet.

'Damn 'y, Lightman,' he snarled,' comin' back at this, after all these years. What kind 'a bloody fool does that?' Cal shrugged, snarled, with a glare,

'One like me.' Hamish laughed, harshly, mocked,

'Such a misled blighter, y' are. So blind, fer all yer science. Couldn' see what was goin' on past the bitch in yer bed.' Pure fury erupted on Cal's face, and it was clear he barely restrained himself from lunging at Hamish.

'Why don' cha explain 't me, then, eh?' Cal snapped, ferociously, 'You knew who I was from the beginnin', didn' cha?' Hamish laughed, again.

' O' course. Y' think Collins' gonna let you come at me, blind? We couldn' chance you pickin' up on our Operation.'

'What, y' toss a couple 'o Operatives t' th' sharks, evr'y now 'n then, t' keep yer cover?' Cal accused, and Hamish laughed, cruelly, nodded,

'Absolutely.' Hamish chuckled, remembering.

'T'was me what gave Paderick the remote to try 'n kill you. Too damn bad he screwed up. Caused me a lot o' trouble. I hid him, after, 'til I needed him.'

'Why kill Rich, 'n Glynn? They didn' know anythin' !' Cal shot back, eyes glittering fire. Hamish made a face, a trace of regret.

'They weren't supposed to go down, they were supposed to fly out, leave ya.' Hamish shrugged, features showing disdain.

'Too bad they went back for ye. Can't see as ye were dyin' fer.'

Hamish squared his shoulders, leveled his gun at Cal's chest, complained,

'Now, I gotta finish cleanin' up the mess.' His features went cold and hard, and he took a breath, held it, preparatory to pulling the trigger. Cal braced himself, turning sideways, eyes narrowed in anticipation, and two gunshots cracked loudly over the sound system. Gillian and Rhea both jumped, hands covering their faces, eyes wide

with confusion when it was Hamish who reeled and fell, face first, to the floor. The film Cal swayed, opened his eyes wider, straightened his stance, blinking in confusion, then took a step backwards as a second man stepped into Hamish's spot, gun trained on Cal.

'Collin,' Cal said, fake surprise, shifting again so that Collin had to move on camera, and his features were easily identifiable to everyone in the room. Collin laughed, short and sharp, no amusement in the tone or on his face.

''M pissed, Cal,' he said, matter-of-factly, as he kept the gun on Cal, kneeling to check Hamish's pulse. Finding none, he pulled the gun from Hamish's limp grasp into his own, shifting the weapon he had to his left hand, standing.

' Y've cost me another decent Operative. Rich, Glynn,…now Hamish.'

Cal sneered, eyes bright with anger, accused,

''S YOUR fault, Collin, all o' 'em. ' Collin scowled, sighed, explained,

'I didn't appreciate my operatives being treated like some classroom experiment, Cal. I had a lot goin' on, more than you can imagine.' Collin surveyed Cal as if he were a small child, in need of a simple explanation.

'I couldn't take th' chance that crazy obsession of yours would actually work. I had to move Liam out. He was more valuable than the

rest. I couldn' chance 'im discovering I was responsible for the failure of that operation he'd spent over 2 years on. It would've made him useless to me. Hamish needed to be relocated, too, so it worked perfect. The others,…well, they were expendable.' His tone was cold, callus, matter-of-fact.

'Of course, Liam'd really have gone over the top if he'd found out I'm complicit in the death of his niece. Then, after all that trouble, he still goes missing.' Colin sighed, shook his head, regret.

'I was really hoping you'd help me smoke him out, Cal. That he'd re-appear, just to save your ass, so I could take him down at the same time. No such luck, I guess.'

Cal's glare didn't affect Collin, at all; he actually laughed in Cal's face, completely amused with his own perceived brilliance.

'Hamish was a loose end, Cal, and so are you. No matter how grand your illusions are, you're a still just a little fish.'

'So's a piranha, mate,' Cal spat, with a cruel grin. Collin's smile faded slightly, but he squared his stance and began to raise his gun to point at Cal.

'Whoops, hold on, you'll miss your close-up', Loker's voice wisecracked from off screen, jerking Collin around to face Loker, holding a video recorder. Loker moved up, parallel to Cal, panning

Collin's suddenly rigid stance.

'Gotta tell you, Collin, you look good on film. Sound good, too. Every word, clear as day,' Loker said, tone mocking. Collin's anxiety level clearly spiked, and he aimed his weapon straight at Cal, but his attention was on Loker.

' Give it up, lad. That'll do y' no good. 'M gonna kill you both, and just walk outta here with that camera.'

'No, y're not!' Cal shouted, and lunged for the gun. Collin was too fast; he snapped his attention back at Cal, shot him twice, sent Cal flying backwards, off screen.

Gillian's sudden gasp was small, virtually unnoticed by everyone, except Cal. He winced, sighed, wished she hadn't had to see that. Even though she knew he was all right, it wasn't pretty to watch.

The on-screen Loker backed away as Collin waved the gun his direction, lowering his camera, his expression truly frightened. Collin's face was twisted with pure rage as he unloaded two more shots into Loker, sending him to the floor.

Both girls flinched, this time; from his seat at the console, Loker allowed a small, triumphant smile to touch his face.

'Damn fools,' Collin sneered, moving toward Loker's still form, fumbling for the camera.

'Wrong camera', an unfamiliar voice snapped, from off screen; Collin jerked erect, eyes wildly searching the room, his gaze meeting those of the group now sitting in the lab as he spotted the other

camera. He had clearly never thought there would be a second one. A blurred movement brought his attention away, back toward where the voice had come from, his gun pivoting to fire, too late.

Three more shots cracked over the speakers; blood bloomed across Collin's shirtfront as he crumbled, dead, to the floor of Cal's living room. A blurred figure, gun in hand, back to the camera, almost came on-screen, just as the video ended.

'Who was that?' Gillian demanded, pointing at the screen, indicating where the blurred figure had appeared, 'Who said, 'wrong camera'?'

' Ah, tha's me,' Cal offered, not too convincingly, with a wince of regret at the blatant lie. Gillian narrowed her gaze menacingly at Cal, lips pursed over what she wanted to say. She glanced sharply at Bernard, raised her hand toward him in an appeasing gesture, said, simply,

'Liam?' Bernard and Ben both made annoyed faces, but Gillian waved away their protests before they were spoken.

'I know, not there,' she snapped, angrily, but her attention was on Cal, and her gaze softened when it met his. She read the truth in his pained eyes, and her features relaxed as she gave a satisfied nod.

There was no way she could hold onto her anger, knowing that it'd been Liam who'd stepped in, saved both her boys.

'Well, there ya go, Ber-nard,' Cal said, feet shuffling, hands stuffed into his pockets,' 'Y've got yer evidence… full confession, on film. Collin was clearly shot in self-defense, eh?'

Bernard growled, irritably, surveyed the faces of the Lightman Group employees, doing his best to determine if any of them were a security risk, but sighed, knowing full well that none of them would ever breathe a word about how the incident had really gone down.

'Just tell me the gun used on Collin is going to come up registered to you. Even though I know it wasn't you who used it,' he finally grumbled, with a resigned slump to his shoulders.

'Oh, yeah, absolutely,' Cal assured, a bit too quickly, and with a twist of relief on his face.

Bernard sighed, again, pointed at the screen, said,

'Hard copy, my desk, first thing tomorrow morning.' Cal nodded, without hesitation.

' Y' got it.' Bernard gestured for Ben to follow, and left the four alone. Loker tapped the computer off, his self-satisfied smile tweaked with a wince of pain as he spun his chair around the face the rest. Cal pointed at him, said,

'Y' heard 'im, right? First thing t'morrow.'

'C'mon, Lightman, give him a break, huh? ' Torres protested, a bit too quickly, drawing curious looks from Loker and Cal. She

deflated, just a little, shifting uncomfortably as she realized she was defending Loker.

'I mean, he did get shot, helping you. I can run it over.' Cal nodded, agreed,

'Right, then, Loker…take it a bit easy, t' morrow….. Feel free t' come in an hour late.' Loker, Torres, and Gillian all rolled their eyes, which Cal ignored.

'Foster,' he said, briskly, turned and headed out toward his Office. Gillian threw a confused look at the other two, then followed.

Cal stopped, just outside his office door, in the shadowed hall, and faced Gillian. He waited, knowing she would have plenty to say about the nights' events. Gillian's eyes searched his face; hers flashed anger, relief, curiosity, resolve. Cal waited for her sweet lips to loosen the pout she held them in when she wasn't quite sure how to phrase what it was she wanted to say. She shifted her posture, said,

'Liam was working with you from the beginning wasn't he? Collin didn't stand a chance.' Cal shrugged, then nodded, brow furrowed.

'Aye.'

Gillian took a deeper breath, accused,

'I thought you weren't CIA or MI6 anymore.' Sadness tinged the

slight edge of anger in her tone.

'Nev-ah said that, luv,' Cal retorted, softly, shifting his glance, his features hard and unreadable. He turned away, unlocked the door of his office, stepped in, turning to invite her to in. Uncertain as to what he was about, Gillian followed to stand beside him at his desk. Her features confused, she surveyed the orderly array of paperwork carefully lined up across it's surface. She reached for the first piece of paper, but before she touched it, or could ask him anything, he spun and headed toward the door. She paused, looked after him, stopped him briefly with her words.

'Cal, where are you going?' Cal hesitated in the doorway, pretending not to see Loker and Torres, who both now stood in the hallway, eyeing him with questioning gazes.

'Glasgow,' he replied, touched each of their eyes briefly with his own, then hustled off into the shadowy hallway. Loker scowled at his retreating back, and mumbled,

'As in…Scotland?' but Torres ignored his departure to join Gillian, who had begun to sort through the organized jumble.

'What is all this?' Torres asked, face furrowed with confusion as she scanned the mass of papers.

'It's the whole story,' Jillian said, numbly, as she lifted several sheets and gave them a cursory glance.

'It's Cal, telling us the whole story, the only way he knows how…the only way he can.' Torres shook her head, expression

confused and curious all at once. She took hold of one of the papers, scanning it, brow furrowed, said,

'Wow. There's a lot of stuff here. We should probably wait until tomorrow?'

'Probably,' Gillian mumbled, with a nod, attention locked on the piece of paper in her hand. Then their eyes met, and a mutual unspoken agreement flashed between them. Gillian pulled Cal's chair out, sat down, and Torres dragged one from the opposite side of the desk around to sit alongside her.

Loker looked at the two women, and gave a deep, pained sigh, followed by a wince. Without another word, he slumped his way over to Cal's couch, snagged a blanket from the back. Kicking off his shoes, he arranged the pillows, tugged the blanket around his shoulders and lay down. His eyes fell shut, quickly, and the last thing he heard was Gillian say,

'We should start at the beginning,' before he crashed into the dark realm of exhausted sleep.


End file.
